Cerys at Knight
by Cardeia
Summary: This is the story of love in unexpected places, friendship and cameraderie. Our knights, some new faces and Britain's people come together to work for peace, and live, love and learn about each other. A fun romance and human interest piece! COMPLETE
1. Home

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the character names, save my own original creations. I do not wish to be compensated for this work, nor do I wish to infringe on any copyrights held by any stakeholders of the movie King Arthur. This work is an original creation, based on the legend of King Arthur and his Knights.

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**Chapter 1:** _**Home**_

Cerys was startled out of a quiet moment by the cry of "Knights! Knights!" echoing in the hall. She knew that meant one thing. Arthur and his men were home. Finally.

She mentally ran through the list of things to do upon their arrival, sighed and got up from the window sill in which she had been half-dozing. A last long lingering look at the sun still beam­ing to warm the stone, and she was off running towards the kitchens.

She knew that Lorina and Guinevere would already have heard the call, and would have gone to prepare for their men's arrival, as would the other women who ran the households while the men were away. Everyone would descend upon the yard to see the men come home. Cerys knew that Lorina would make haste to call Daffyd, the healer, since Bors always had some sort of injury which needed tending. Of Guinevere, Cerys knew she would be in her chamber, chang­ing to greet her lord as the beauty she desired to be for him. Cerys need not worry about either of those things, for she had no man for which to greet. She considered the fort in which the garrison resided her lord and responsibility. Her passions, no matter how strong, would have to wait until such a time as was proper.

Cerys entered the kitchens and proceeded to roll soft thin spun wool towels and stick them up­right in a large iron pot on the top of the brightly burning stone oven. Slowly she poured water over them until the water steamed and hissed, heating the towels well. Cerys squeezed out each pip­ing hot towel and placed them in a basket, covered by linen to keep them warm and wet. The men, despite having such grand gestures of being tough, loved having a clean towel with which to wipe road grit from their faces when they returned. It wasn't necessary, but it gave Cerys rea­son enough to be in the yard when the men would arrive.

Far off she could hear the scrape of the large wood doors at the entrance to the inner compound opening and knew she need to be in the yard shortly. The noise of returning horses and wagons, children and shouting men, bounced off the walls of the barracks as she made her way. Running now, she slowed and walked through the entryway just as the dust from the horses entrance greeted her feet. Such a sight she enjoyed! The horses snorting and stamping, tack jingling as they tossed their heads, eager to be fed. The smell of sweat, the cries of happiness to be home, the sounds of armour hitting armour and wagons creaking. Shouting of men, shrieking of women. The homecoming was always such a chaos of noise and happiness.

"Welcome home!" She cried into the melee and lifted a hand to wave, which was lost in the up­roar. She noticed in turn that each of the men would need repairs to armour and leather, and, as she suspected, a few would require a visit from Daffyd. Another mental list added the first one. Such was her job as head of this outpost. Guinevere was truly the lady here, but had deferred to Cerys out of necessity for order in chaos. Cerys ran the operation well, and Guinevere was happy to have it so.

Arthur passed on horse first, Lancelot next, ever stone faced until feet hit ground. Tristan was already dismounted and hooding his falcon. Cerys reached him first.

"Welcome home Tristan." She said softly, so as not to startle the bird, and handed him a hot towel to warm his hands and wipe the road dust from his eyes and mouth. Isaac, his falcon, twit­tered a welcome, and she gave him a stroke or two. Such a kind bird when perched, he was as ferocious in the hunt as his master. Cerys owned a young falcon herself, and enjoyed the hunt with Tristan and Isaac when able to get away from her duties.

She walked on to the others, now dismounted, and felt a wave of reassurance. The brothers Ga­wain and Galahad, the young Perceval, welcomed home with strong hugs and kisses, each ea­gerly rubbing off grit with their proffered towels. Eagerly scanning the crowd for familiar faces, not one looked sad to be home again. Each beginning to unwind from the tension of being at war.

"Bors, do you need Daffyd? We have already called him, but of course, we can't break the tra­dition that I have to ask." She smiled as she reached him, gave him a pinch on the arm and a kiss on the cheek. He grunted, looked at her, and then past her as Daffyd walked into the compound. Bors was ever the rough man. Behind the toughness beat the heart of a kind and generous man, as evidence of his large band of children, all hanging about him now, peppering him with ques­tions about his travels. A smile and a hand on the head of each was ensured by Bors, who loved his children almost as much as his position in life as Knight.

"Where is Lorina?" He asked gruffly, casting his eyes about the compound, then checked and broke into a broad smile as she entered right behind the healer. Cerys nodded to her as he strode off to greet his wife, gaggle of children in tow. Lorina poked at him after he grabbed her tightly and Daffyd looked at the gash in his shoulder, bound with sinew to keep bleeding at bay. Such an emotional man for one so rough in manner, she thought admiringly.

A voice to her right stopped her. "Such a welcome sight you are, with hot towel and smile for us Lady." it said.

Cerys would know that voice anywhere. Strong, with a hint of mischief, dark brooding under­tones if you listened carefully. Now on the ground, his demeanour would again be the sarcastic joker, akin to his true nature. A thrill ran through her. She turned, and looked into sparkling eyes and tilted smile of Lancelot. Sweet Lancelot. Her midnight conversation, hunting partner and best friend. Her face showed relief at his presence. Such a pleasure to know he was home safe again.

"Nothing would please me more than you have you welcomed properly, my Lord." She said, mocking his formal tone as she handed him a roll. He gently took it from her, and as she waited, he rubbed across his face with a sigh of pure satisfaction, that seemed to start from deep within his body. It made her so happy, that noise. The relief of all the men coming home safely made the tension ease from her, if only a bit. She could feel the stiffness ease from between her shoulders, that resided there the minute they would leave, and relinquish its command only when they were home again.

"No injury to report?" She asked casually, as she took back the used towel. She half hoped for some minor scratch, so that she could visit him later with healing cream. But, she would not want any harm to come to him.

"I am fine. Klynnd has pulled a muscle, but he won't be lame long. We rest for a few days now, so both of us will have plenty of time to heal." He replied, as they turned to walk together, falling to step as if natural to do so. Her instinct was to link her arm through his, but checked before she did so. A distance was required to keep herself from being made talk of. His station required control. He was a Knight, and as such demanded respect in all things while still at sta­tion in armour.

Brinn pulled up alongside Lancelot with Klynnd. "Lancelot, is there anything else you need? Otherwise I will see to Klynnd." Lancelot nodded that al laws well and patted the young squire on his head. Brinn strode off with purpose, as tired and dusty Klynnd followed behind. Cerys gathered in the smell of Lancelot as they walked. Of horse, sweat, damp leather and metal tang of blood. They were not long past a battle, and her stomach turned at the thought. The smell, however distaste­ful, was in another sense a happy one, for there was a man beside her for which to smell! She would rather die than to not smell her knights fresh back from battle, safe and alive.

Cerys could hear Arthur discussing with the armourer what needed to be repaired, as the made their way towards him. Lancelot reached him first and clasped him on the shoulder.

"Arthur! Work can wait! Cerys has hot cloth for your weary face." He said. Arthur looked like a man so tired and heavy with need for sleep, Cerys was not sure if he was well, and immediately turned to summon Daffyd. Arthur's face brightened at her, and he grabbed her up in a crushing embrace before she could catch the healer's attention. Lancelot rescued her basket just as she was swept up by her tall cousin.

"Cousin! Such a sight for my eyes. Again, your touch has brought my men home to civility. Thank you!" He laughed as he swung her about.

"Arthur! You will put me down now! My poor back cannot take such a crushing from your ar­mour!" She laughed back, as he set her down onto the ground again. Her hands up on his shoul­ders, they smiled warmly at each other and Arthur bent over to kiss her on each cheek.

Arthur did tower over Cerys. She was short, and slim, and always strained up with her eyes to catch his. It was always a happy reunion, as Cerys was Arthur's cousin, his mothers sister's child. Arthur and Cerys grew up together when Arthur's father was stationed at the same out­post, and as such were fond of each other, almost as siblings. Both had lost their mothers in an attack, and when that happened, Cerys' father had sent her further south to Powys to be out of danger of further raids. She had returned some years ago, longing to be back closer to where she felt at home, closer to her King and friends, now in need of her service. Years later, she ran the household and the fort with the same fortitude as Arthur with his cohort.

Arthur grabbed at the remaining towel from what was now Lancelot's basket, held it to his face for a moment, gestured and strode off to the other side of the compound to check on Bors. Satisfied that Lorina and Daffyd had well in hand, he abruptly returned to Cerys and inquired about her health and the fort. Arthur could never stop moving, and whenever on the ground, could be found striding this way and that, thinking out loud, talking with arms and hands gesturing wild­ly. Stillness only came with sleep. Cerys filled him in quickly on important news, none of which was important. Arthur trusted her to care for their home and outpost as well as any.

"Where is my wife? Is she not here to greet me?" He asked as he rubbed his hands with the tow­el, quickly cooling in the air.

Before Cerys could answer, a shriek sounded from the entryway. Running at full tilt, Guinevere threw herself to Arthur's arms, a flurry of hair and billowing cloth. He held her tightly, burying his face in her hair, muffled words of love coming from him. She laughed and held him at arms length. "Come! You must get out of your armour and rest!" his smile gave her another chance to laugh. She nodded and whispered a thanks to Cerys. Arthur bid their leave and with a wink to both her and Lancelot, and off they strode, hand in hand towards the living quarters. Cerys knew that later, much later, they would all have drink and talk at length of their journey. Arthur, de­spite his weariness, was in good humour. They must have had a successful outing.

And just like that, the courtyard emptied. Men and horses, knights and their women, each left to remove armour, bathe wounds and reunite with loved ones. Cerys sighed and lowered her eyes. This was the hardest part. She always felt bereft. Each of these men were so special to her. She had grown with them, they training to be knights, she a young girl watching from an oak tree beside the field where they rode, before the attack, before she left for west Britain. She would tend their cuts even then, she remembered. In some way, she wanted to be listening to their stories, rubbing their bruises, tending their injury the same way. She thought of all of them as her brothers. She took a moment to scan the courtyard, find a bench to sit on, and pull out her tally sticks.

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Dear reader:

Reviews and comments welcome, thank you for spending a few quiet moments with me. I look forward to the next chapter.

_Cardeia_


	2. Silence

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the character names, save my own original creations. I do not wish to be compensated for this work, nor do I wish to infringe on any copyrights held by any stakeholders of the movie King Arthur. This work is an original creation, based on the legend of King Arthur and his Knights.

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**Chapter 2: _Silence_**

Lancelot watched as Cerys'head and shoulders drooped. His eyes followed her as she walked over to the side of the courtyard and slowly lowered herself to a bench. He knew she was relieved to have the men home, all back safely, as evident from her smile before. He knew she was thinking of all that she now needed to take care of in the coming days. Such chaos their lives were for her, but he knew that she truly enjoyed it. He knew her so well, the years together knitting the close bond he treasured with her. He knew... he knew he was glad to be home.

He wanted to carry her away, smooth the furrow in her brow, comfort her as much as he needed comforting from her in the same way. She arranged her skirt over her legs and examined her tally sticks to add to the lists of whittle notches. He counted in his head. Red tally for weapons, green for armour. White for injury. Blue for troop wagon supplies. He knew there was one dyed black, that she kept hidden deep in her pockets, or in her rooms. Notches on that tally were for deaths. Women in the compound would threaten their children into obediance by telling them that Cerys would put a notch on her black tally for them if they did not behave. It was always met with a silent, obedient child. The threat of having a notch was enough.

Lancelot also knew she was lonely. With no husband or children of her own, she had adopted her duties as if married and she never fully relaxed. Even when with the men, or with him, he could see her planning, organizing and measuring in her head. He sighed and ran his hand through dusty hair, shaking loose more road grit and sand. He was glad to be home, thankful to be able to see her again. He remarked to himself that his chin needed a trim, as did his short-cropped curls. Such hair on a man, there was no controlling it! A sight he must be, dishevelled, dusty, stinking to high heaven of sweat and horse, dried blood. Always the metal tang of dried blood. It never left his memories, even when armour was cleaned. A visit to the baths was in order before dinner.

"Leave your tally sticks for a moment and sit with me." He said as he reached the bench and set her towel basket at her feet. He softly pulled a stick out of one hand, her whittle knife out of the other. Cerys blinked up at him, and moved slightly to allow his riding armour room on the bench. She had not realized him still in the courtyard, but was glad of his company now, evident by the smile now spreading on her face. Private moments with her so soon after arrival were rare indeed, and he felt she needed a companion now.

With a huge sigh, he sat, heaved off his greaves and pried off each boot. Hobnails hit dirt, and leather tops folded over, their laces spilling out onto the dusty yard ground. He stretched out his feet, wiggling the toes with evident pleasure. The long days on the road took a beating on the body, the feet no exception!

"My lord! Your feet have such an odour as to fell birds form the highest trees!" She joked as he grinned and wiggled them closer to her. She struck at his arm and tried to push him away. He raised an eyebrow in jest and placed his feet back on the ground.

He laughed softly, settling back against the wall with a satisfied sigh, head back and turned to­wards her, not bothering to reply to her barb. His swords made an impromptu backrest, of which he was fondly used to, head resting between hilts. She gazed back for a moment at him, patted his thigh, then rested her gaze on the now empty courtyard.

And such was their relationship. Such as it was with all the men in the cohort for Cerys, but with Arthur, Lancelot and the inner circle of knights, her connection was deeper. Their ties were long ago bound as children, and hardened by the more recent years of hardship together.

Her closest friendship of all the men was to Lancelot. Cerys had stuck by Lancelot through in­jury, heartache, drunkeness to the point where she would see him to a soft sleeping spot, or hold him up as he retched away a night of bad ale and wine. She stood by him when he was accused of coveting Guinevere from Arthur, against her own cousin. True, he was madly in love with the Queen when she was first brought home to the fort, but Guinevere was possessed by Arthur. She was truly made for him, as he was possessed by her in turn. In the end, Lancelot had given the notion of stealing her from Arthur a pass. It would have been like hitting an ox with a goose feather, expecting it to fall dead after one stroke.

But it was whispered by some, and with whispers come open ears to mind those looking to best Arthur. Not all of Guinevere's people wanted Arthur as King. Arthur was played the fool, and such almost lost both the friendship of his trusted knight and his cousin, against the fear of his greatest love betraying him. Since all was cleared, the two men were again on the battlefield together, and Cerys somewhere in the middle, as both mediator and confidante. She loved them both.

Many people saw the connection between Lancelot and Cerys. It was said in gossip that even­tually they would wake up one day and realize their love for one another. Each showed their desire, but seemed blind to the other. Unaware to her, Lancelot would watch her walk when in the same room, would seek her out in the feast hall, would always ride beside her at hunt. Una­ware to him, she would always make sure his cup was full, and his armour fixed first. Her eyes would find him each time he entered a room. His eyes would never leave her when together. Their laughter was constant when talking in groups, and many of the older women in the fort would smile and nod to each other. Wise eyes could see what young ones could not, or were not ready to.

In truth, Lancelot knew he loved her. He told himself over and over again that it was love as for a sister. He would not believe that Cerys would ever want a man like him. He killed for a living, he had seen things no man should see, and was haunted by them each night. He swore once that he would never burden anyone else with those thoughts or the loathing it brought on. So, he caged his heart, believing to protect her.

They sat in comfortable silence, both treasuring the absence of sound for different reasons. With the clamour of noise gone in the yard, the small birds came back to the trees ringing the edge. Cerys watched as a swallow flitted from branch to branch, warbling happily at his fortune to be in his trees again. A yellow-crested sparrow swooped down and picked up bits of stone and sand from the ground, and hopped about looking for better. A cat slunk by, cautiously aware of the prey returning to her hunting grounds. The grey stone walls radiated heat from the day, and it was warm, relaxing. As they sat, Cerys sighed and settled deeper into the bench. Lancelot rolled his leather trews to expose ropy shin muscles, bruised from long days in the saddle, stirrup leath­ers rubbing across them. The two looked completely satisfied to sit and soak in the silence and comforting warmth, too often taken for granted in each of their daily goings.

The sun crept further west, and Cerys knew soon it would be time to visit the kitchens and en­sure a solid meal. If not enough bread, it would not soak up the wine and ale that the men would drink, and brawling would send everyone over the edge. Tired men and alcohol were not a good combination. Today there should be laughter and singing, not harsh words and drunken punch­es.

"If not for the tally sticks I have wrestled from your grasp, I would swear you were still whittling away in your mind." Lancelot said. His eyes had never left her, despite his complete exhaustion and the warmth from sun hitting black leather, giving him the desire to close them, to catch a moments rest.

"I am afraid I have much to do with the men home. I have extra stores to bring up, the armoury to supply wood to, the squires will need repair thread and sinew for tents and baggage..." She sighed as she slapped her knees and rose. "I have done enough sitting, I must keep my mind to my duties. Will you tell of your exploits later tonight, after our meal? When we have tired of this silent peace?" She had read his need for quiet so perfectly. He was grateful to have her know him so well.

"Of course. How could I resist the chance to regale a lady with exploits so grand?" He said, quirking a smile, as he too rose and bent stiffly for his boots. A fortnight in the saddle made him feel like he was made of old, dried wood. Bruises from battle made him feel as though he had been beaten by a thousand Saxon clubs. Truly, he may have been, he mused silently.

Cerys turned to go, but then stopped. "Lancelot?" she ventured.

"Yes?"

"I am glad you are home."

Lancelot felt a wave of happiness hit him, for no other reason than she had said his name. A crooked grin met his face, he sighed and nodded. With that, she too smiled and turned to go through the doors to the kitchens, to prepare for the evening. Lancelot turned on his bare heel, discarded greaves and boots in hand. He half limped, half shuffled for his quarters. He truly needed to get out of these leathers before he turned from wood to stone.

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Dear reader, 

Thanks are in order for your continued time. I look forward to your discussion about my characters, and where you think they should go! As always, may your pens never stop moving on the page.

_Cardeia_


	3. Dinner Revelry

**Disclaimer: **I do not own any of the character names, save my own original creations. I do not wish to be compensated for this work, nor do I wish to infringe on any copyrights held by any stakeholders of the movie King Arthur. This work is an original creation, based on the legend of King Arthur and his knights.

**

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****Chapter 3**: _Dinner Revelry_: 

The first dinner back was always a loud and boisterous affair. A Cerys changed out of her day clothes in her small rooms, she could already hear the men, through her window, playing knuck­lebone at the tables outside the hall. She could hear The "Thwack, Thwack" of throwing knives hitting an oak round tied to a hitching post, and could picture Gawain and Galahad trying to best each other and impress the women who would, of course, be milling about. She could picture Bors cradling Lorina in his lap as he boasted about the 200 or more Saxons he had killed, while Lorina rolled her eyes and made horns above his head to make the men laugh behind their cups of wine. The laughter wafted up to her, and she revelled in the fact that her friends and cousin were home. Happy times such as this were to be cherished, for all too soon they would be gone again, back out to wage war on the hordes of Saxons trying to take over their country. Hmm... Their country, how easy she thought this way now.

She hummed as she donned a simple shift of linen, her favourite for hot weather. The hall got so warm with all the bodies in it this time of year, it was loose and able to let air flow to her body, the long skirts stirring air as she walked. Low cut at the front, it allowed her to wear a simple slim torque of silver, with a small sapphire set in the centre. A gift from Arthur when he was visiting her in the south, years ago.

She pinned her hair up and tendrils fell out, tickling her neck where they landed. Despite her small stature, she was a beautiful and graceful woman. Tristan often called her Gazelle, in his soft quiet way, then pop a sliver of apple into her mouth, sometimes joking that she needed to be fattened. Tristan was the quietest of all the Knights, and she would often spend time sitting with he and Isaac, learning to listen to nature from the top of the battlements, or on horse when the group was out hunting.

She lifted her small house torch to her water basin to check her reflection, stuffing a tendril out of the way behind her ear. As usual, her thoughts turned to work, thinking of what needed to be brought up to sit on for the evening, whether enough wine was brought up from the stores. It was going to be a full hall for dinner. She shook her head. She was mad, a mad woman! It was time to be happy, and to celebrate. Her staff had it well in hand.

A knock at the door turned her head. "Come."

Guinevere walked in, with lips pursed and a pensive look on her face. "Do need to preen your­self this much?"

If not for the jesting smile on her face, Cerys would have been insulted. In as much, this was also tradition. Guinevere, would come in, complain that Cerys was wasting time and be eager to get going, then would spend just as much time in the water basin checking her own image.

Guinevere pulled her over to the window so they could see who was about. From their vantage, she could see across the compound block at the entrance to the feasting hall. Perceval had Gala­had and one of the younger footmen in a headlock, one in each arm, and was spinning, attempt­ing to dizzy all of them at once. Cerys shook her head. Hardened men in battle could be such silly fools in play! Out of the dark, walked Lancelot. Hails and cheers greeted him, as did a young serving girl with a wine flask. Lancelot took the wine in one hand, the girls waist in the other, and walked further into the milling crowd. She could hear him make jokes with the men, and then hooting as he sat down to enjoy a good gamble with some of the men, girl on knee, jug on table.

"Shall we go? I need help to drag Arthur away from his maps to come join the party. You must help me convince him." Guinevere said, with palms upraised. "That man would waste such a good evening on MAPS!"

Cerys followed Guinevere to Arthur's chambers, where they found him passed out over the bed, one soft boot halfway on, and the other dangling from an outstretched hand. Maps littered the small table beside the bed, spilling onto the floor, charcoal drawing sticks in a clay pot over­turned. He was truly exhausted from their latest campaign, as she had suspected in the court­yard. So much weighed on his shoulders, he took so much to heart. A King and knight in one breath. A heavy load for any man.

A slight snore echoed from him as his chest rose and fell. Cerys was loathe to wake him and she and Guinevere passed looks of understanding. Of anyone, he needed the rest the most. Guinev­ere stood beside her and sighed.

"He is so peaceful when he is asleep."

Cerys could hear the love in Guinevere's voice for her husband as she spoke. It would be prudent, Cerys thought, if she removed herself from the room.

"I will join the rest, we will see you soon." Cerys whispered as she tiptoed to the door. Guine­vere nodded and sat softly beside her husband, a hand smoothing his dark hair from his fore­head. Cerys closed the door behind her and set off for the feasting hall.

The common area outside the hall was bright with torches and brazier fire. As she approached, she could hear the men braying in laughter at something Bors had said. "Cerys!" was exclaimed from various areas and she could feel the eyes on her. A smile passed to her lips as she entered the halo of light. How she had missed their presence in the fort! The walls came alive with the energy they brought. Even with months on the road, they would greet each other as if only a day had passed. Thank the Gods that they still came home at all, she thought.

Perceval was with her in a moment, offering her wine from his cup and lifting her by her waist to spin with one arm firmly wrapped. She laughed and kissed his cheek, praying he would put her down before he broke her back. These knights, she thought, did not know how strong of muscle they truly were.

"Cerys you have worn our favourite dress! How kind!" He exclaimed as he set her down at the table where Bors, Lorina and Perceval were sitting.

"Perceval, you say that about all my dresses! It makes the decision on what to wear very easy."

Lorina stretched out a hand with a goblet, and Cerys accepted gladly. Bors filled it brimming with red liquid, and encouraging her to drink up quickly. She sat on an empty spot around the table and they all toasted a happy reunion. Cerys drank deeply, breathing in the aroma of spices and sweetness. It was good wine, much to easy to drink quickly and have a fuzzy head to pay later. Chatter filled the air as they talked of nothing and jested with one another. Cerys rested her chin in her palm and listened, wanting to soak it all in.

Cerys then scanned the crowd, looking for Lancelot. All at the table knew who she was search­ing for. All understood the friendship she had with him, and all could see the need they had for each others company. Only Jols, the stable master ever mentioned it to Cerys, but never with any indication that he suggested love. That, he believed, was up to them. He told Cerys once, in another conversation, about gentling war horses, that it took time to create a battle ready beast, and only when the horse believed in himself, could that horse look a rushing warrior in the eye and stand firm. Cerys had never fully caught on to what he had truly meant, but felt that he had some hidden meaning. For that reason she would jest sometimes and call him "warhorse".

Tristan came up behind her on silent feet. "He is in the hall." He said softly in her ear, and sat just to her right. She looked over at him and patted his thigh in thanks. Nothing was ever said, just understood. Cerys treasured that about Tristan. Of all the knights, he was more than friend; he had long also been teacher and brother.

"I think I shall make sure we have everything ready to eat and claim a seat!" She exclaimed

a "Gods yes I'm so hungry I could eat the Sout' end of a boar travellin' Nort'!" Echoed from Bors, and she rose and walked into the feasting hall, listening to him begin to brag about how much he could eat in a sitting. Gawain, leaning near the door, picked her sleeve as she passed him. She stopped.

"Cerys, you are lovely tonight." he said slowly, half-lidded and swaying. In the drink heavily already, he was concentrating to get the words out with some semblance of respect. Cerys em­braced his shoulders and kissed his cheek. There was only one reason Gawain would drink heavily, and she knew that Galahad would wake from his screams later on when both retired to the chambers they shared. He was so sensitive, yet so strong, she wished she could ease the pain for him, make the battle nightmares leave. So it was true, they had not been long out of battle when they returned home. That meant that the Saxons were closer. Cerys brushed the thought from her head. She would find some of her valerian tincture to give to Galahad later.

She won­dered how many of the men had the same dreams afterwards, but never asked. Some things were better left unsaid, especially when it came to the men and their brave reputations.

"Gawain, as always your compliments make me blush, it is good to hear them come to my ears again." She replied. Such a sweet man. When befuddled in his wine flask, he wore his thoughts as close as his tunic sleeve and as loud as his laughter.

There were many people already sitting, most drinking, some already sleeping where they fell. Those who fought hard, she mused to herself, could drink just as hard.

Again, she floated her eyes over the crowd. Lancelot was not here. She bit her lip and craned her neck over the crowd close by. Perhaps he was already seated? A hand on her shoulder star­tled her, and she whirled in time to see a soft black tunic covering broad chest, baritone rumble of laughter so familiar that it was part of herself.

"You bloody Ox! You just about made me drop my wine!" She exclaimed, with one hand now on his chest, the other holding her goblet of wine, arm out flung to protect it from falling. She could feel his heart through the warm leather tunic, beating softly, steadily. Her mind whirled for just a moment, unexpectedly. She looked up, and there were his laughing eyes, looking down to her, mischievous, daring her.

"My apologies my Lady, for I would never want to waste good wine." and with that he took her hand on his chest, pulled it to his lips and kissed it, then scoffed her goblet and drained the wine in a single gulp, never once moving his eyes from her face.

"And what of startling young ladies?" She said, daring back with eyebrows raised. Their formal tone was tongue-in-cheek to inappropriateness, but suited her fine. His sarcasm and jesting na­ture nourished her soul, and on this evening, she craved a battle of whit's with him.

He laughed and took her arm. She laughed then too, and they walked together around the outside of the large round table, famous throughout Britain for its size and signifigance. Not only a feasting hall, this was the counsel room, staging room and where such ceremonies as knightings and weddings took place. Cerys herself polished the solid surface when the staff were too busy, and had numerous times danced across its top in revelry. Guinevere had once confessed to Cerys that Arthur had even bedded her on it, late in the evenings. It was both table and symbol for eve­ryone in the fort. But tonight, it was just their table at which to eat. And perhaps dance on later...

Somehow Lancelot refilled Cerys's goblet, and found his own sitting at their customary place, near the south doors to the hall.

Cerys reached for her cup, which he held out of her reach. He eyed her questioningly, backing up to their sitting cushions slowly, taking small bird sips with each step.

"Is all ready for our dinner?" He teased as he sipped, "Have you double-measured all the serving platters to make sure they will all fit on the table? Have you counted each apple? Where are your tally sticks?"

He made motion to poke at her skirt pockets, looking around her to see if she was carrying an­ything. What a cad. She made the most frustrated face she could without laughing and swatted at him.

"Oh Hell Lancelot, give me my goblet or I swear I will find your most bruised spot and twist!"

"And what spot would that be?"

"Your arse if you don't give me my wine."

"Give it a try."

"Don't tempt me, you know I will..." She made motion to kick him.

He laughed at that, plonked himself on a cushion, and handed her the goblet once she had settled her skirts about her. Again, the easy silence enveloped them as they watched the crowd. Cerys could sense that he was tired, and that the night would be short if she did not provoke some sort of further mirth from him. He rubbed his jaw with his hand, blinking.

"Lancelot?" she said, softening from their jest.

"I'm fine, just a bit tired is all, I will be better spirited with food and drink." He replied, a sigh escaping from him as he rested back on his elbows.

"More drink? My boy I will drink you back under this table so far you will need a rake to claw your way out!" Bors roared and clasped Lancelot's shoulder as he stepped past to sit with the growing crowd.

"Ah, with the way you eat, the rake will be just to get through the slop you leave behind." He threw back, daring Bors to begin the battle.

"I need my food for energy. It's not easy keeping this machine in tune, y'know. I have to have strength to fulfil my lady's command. Which I do very well..."

Lorina squeaked as he pinched her bottom.

"When do you think Lorina will grow tired of your boasting and take up with a real man, who can do as well as speak?" Lancelot laughed back, wiggling his eyebrows at Lorina, who had re­moved her husband's hand from her bottom and sat. She rolled her eyes and threw a chunk of bread at him. Lancelot smiled into his cup and sat back to watch the crowd roll in. It was evident that he loved these exchanges. Cerys knew he loved Bors like a brother, and truly, the barbs were their way of telling each other so.

And so the evening progressed. When Arthur and Guinevere entered, everyone who could still stand stood. The cries of "Arthur!" echoed from the men and "My Lords" from the myriad of men that made up the cohort. They each pulled their forelocks as he passed to sit with his King­hts, and each knight in turn bobbed their head in silent greetings. Mannerisms learned on the road were so hard break when at rest, Cerys remarked to herself. She could see them sitting around a fire, all making the same motion when each would come to rest after seeing to their horses.

His arms rested comfortably on his knees, he looked around him. Guinevere settled quietly at his side and rested her head on his shoulder. She was always very clingy for the first day or so that he was home, and for good reason. They were in love, and she was always tortured when he was away. He dipped his head to listen to something Galahad said, and they both laughed. He seemed to simply relax for a moment and let the revelry soak into him, not moving a muscle.

Cerys handed him a full cup and motioned "Up" with her hands. He needed to start dinner soon or the men would fall asleep in their drink. He nodded and took a quick sip to coat his throat, no doubt still dusty from the roads, hoarse from battle cries.

"Arthur! Speak! Speak!" a few people chanted as he slowly raised himself back to his feet again, wincing as he put strain on a shoulder. Again, Cerys made mental note for the list to talk to Dafydd tomorrow. He could look in on Arthur and make sure.

"My men, my Knights, my ladies," He said as he turned to take into account everyone in the room, "Let us rejoice that we are home again!"

Cheers and pounding on the table drowned him out for a moment. Arthur raised his hand to quiet the hall.

"Each of you should be proud. We have fought well, and fought hard. Let us drink to those who could not be here tonight to celebrate our good fortune."

More yeahs and hurrahs echoed, and each man drank deeply from their goblets. Cerys could see Arthur's eyes cloud over, just for a moment, and then regain their sparkle as he hid his thoughts away. She would have to coax that out of him later, if she could. He felt the loss of life so deeply, as if he was the one responsible for each of their deaths himself.

With the nod of his head, he motioned that it was time to eat, and the burble of conversation and laughter returned to the hall.


	4. Dancing Duel

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the character names, save my own original creations. I do not wish to be compensated for this work, nor do I wish to infringe on any copyrights held by any stakeholders of the movie King Arthur. This work is an original creation, based on the legend of King Arthur and his knights.

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**Chapter 4**: _**Dancing Duel**_

The evening slid by effortlessly, with laughter and stories. Lamps were re-lit as the dark crept into the edges of the hall. Lancelot leaned back on his elbows and listened. He was quite happy to take a moment to relax, when Cerys poked him in the ribs with her fingers.

"You are thinking much harder than you are drinking." She said as she eyed his half-full cup, sitting in front of him on the table.

"I am?" He turned his head towards her.

"Yes, this is not your usual demeanour, by now you would be boiled up and either cavorting with one of the women or instigating some sort of rabble with someone."

"I would, would I?"

He watched her smile and take another sip of her cup. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair coming out of its pins, her eyes laughing and sparkling. She was half-propped up on her seat, her hand put out to steady her. She was happy, he mused, and he was glad for it. He regarded her for a moment more, and then turned his head back to the crowded hall.

"I see. Dance with me then." He said as he raised an eyebrow and his cup to take another sip.

"I'm afraid that if I try to get up from this position, the wine will make me sit straight down again!" She giggled, and put her goblet back to the table, brushing hair away from her face as she sat back, blowing air out from between her lips at the effort.

"Well, then you should stop drinking it and come dance."

"I should just stop with the wine."

Lancelot stood, swayed a moment and pulled her to her feet. She squeaked in protest, but he held her fast around her waist. He steadied her. Gods but she smelled good. Of the cedar trees in the yard, and maybe some mint? He breathed her in for a moment. Mmm... yes... mint. His favourite. He wondered if she knew. His silent wish was that she did and was wearing the oil on her neck for him, but he shook the thought out of his head. Don't be a fool, he berated himself and forgot the notion as soon as his mind had picked it up. He regarded her, petulant look cross­ing his face.

"You know you must dance with me or I won't leave you alone until you do."

Lancelot jumped up on the table and held out a hand to her. She gave him a look of utter rage from her eyes, but with a smile coming to her lips. Of course she would dance, he thought. She was the best dancer in the fort, and the men loved to see her move about, gracefully stepping out rhythm. Lancelot loved taunting her when she danced, it made her eyes fire up, and her chin would always come out, her pride showing through. The only one who could dance with her as well as he did was Gawain, and Gawain was in no shape to get up from where he was laying. Lancelot needed to dance, he needed to move. The restlessness from battle still jerked his bones, and he needed to put the demons to bed before he himself went there.

"Shall you start or shall I?" He said as he hefted her up onto the table with a quick pull of his hand.

She gained her footing, straightened her skirt and pulled the pins out of her hair, tossing them to Arthur, who caught them, nodding his consent for them to dance. She tossed her head, looked around her once, raised her hands above her head and clapped once. All heads in the hall turned, and she clapped twice more. A few people began banging their knives or fists on the table, and she clapped with them, helping them to pick up the beat. Soon, everyone was banging out a beat and cheering her on. Cerys stepped forward and put her hands on her hips, eyes fixed on Lance­lots, a smile now completely across her face, an eyebrow raised. He enjoyed the way she carried her small frame when she danced, as if she was ten feet tall and armoured. Ah yes, he thought to himself, this would be fun.

Lancelot took a step towards her, she took a step back. Lancelot took a step forward, held out his hand, and the dance began. Cerys whirled away, lifting her skirts, dancing along the table, while the men grabbed their cups out of the way. Step left, twirl, step right, clap, turn. Always coming back to rest her eyes on Lancelot. He laughed and hailed out a "HA!", did a step and began to dance to the rhythm, now louder.

Soon, she was whirling, her hair flying, her dress billowing in her efforts to step and keep pace with the drumming in the hall. Lancelot the same, their joust thrusting shoulders at each other, stepping forward, then back, hands out to clap, then back on hip. The beat got faster, and as Cerys stepped forward to it, Lancelot began to step back. She laughed, then she too cried out a "HA!" and began to push him back around the table. He loved it! Yes, this is what he needed; he thought as he stepped away from her and travelled down the table. He felt very free at that moment, and raised an eyebrow again to Cerys, who was laughing and clapping again as she moved him backwards.

"Come now, is that your best?" he yelled above the din.

"Faster!" She yelled in retort, tapping forward with her foot, standing sideways to him now, her chin rested on shoulder.

The crowd obliged. She lost her footing; fell into a crowd of young soldiers, who hefted her back up onto the table just as she fell into them. Her previous tipsiness forgotten, she leapt lightly back to the table and continued as if nothing. He laughed and clapped, moving forward to chal­lenge her.

The beat became faster than either of them could keep up. Lancelot stepped forward, his hand coming out, Cerys stepped into his reach, and he grabbed her, whirled her and held her fast, her back to him.

"Tired yet?" He rasped into her ear.

"No."

"Give in?"

"No."

She broke from his grasp and spun away. Laughter was heard as they watched him grimace again, yell "HA!" once more and step forward. He had noticed she was craving a battle of whit's earlier, but this would have to do for now. Once more around the table they went, each playing off the others body, each pushing the other with their silent duel of will.

Cerys stepped forward and brought her foot down hard, her hands above her head, clasped to­gether, and stopped moving. This was the signal to end the rhythm, the dance was over. The hall stopped, and she closed her eyes, then broke out into a peal of laughter. Lancelot stepped to her, circled her waist and, as was the proper thing to do, bent her backwards and kissed her lightly. He then released her, stepped off the table and held a hand to her again. The both fell exhausted to their cushions, both with chests heaving.

"Hurrah! That was quite a dance!" Yelled Perceval as he brought them both a new cup of wine each. Lorina swatted Bors and scolded him that he never learned to dance like that.

"He'd break the table woman! Are you mad? He's an ox!" Snorted Gawain, guffaws coming from the rest of the crew.

"This ox saved your sorry hide yesterday when you tripped on that Saxon!" Bors retorted, giv­ing Gawain a cuff across his shoulder. They both laughed and clinked their cups together.

Lancelot held his tongue at that remark and drank deeply from Perceval's cup. "I needed that, thank you." He was too winded to get into another spar with the men right now.

"The dance or the wine?" Arthur asked, leaning over to pick a prune off the plate sitting next to him. He chewed slowly as he regarded his friend.

"Both."

"She needed it too. Guinevere was telling me how she has been waking early and retiring late since we left. She is also tiring quickly during the day, Guinevere has found her a few times sleeping in the clothrooms window sill."

Lancelot nodded and knit his brow. He watched her as she too grabbed a prune and nibbled on one end. Tiring? Was she taking her duties too hard? He would have to talk to her. No doubt Arthur should too; after all, it was his household.

Cerys smiled at him, patted his thigh and continued to talk to Galahad, who was asking her how she turned on one foot without falling. She got up and tried to show him, only resulting in Gala­had hitting his shoulder against a post and throwing up his hands.

"I am not a dancer like our Lancelot! I guess I'll stick to killing Saxons." He jested and returned to his seat and a pretty young dark-haired girl who immediately circled his neck with her arms. The group all laughed, and conversations resumed, filling the air with lightness. Lancelot eased back to his elbows and drank it in.

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Dear Reader,

Ahh the dance, a true expression of emotion and feeling. Please let me know if I have portrayed it as such! I am not sure if I have conveyed their deep emotions(not yet realized)for one another as well as I could.

As always, I appreciate your continued reading, and will post again soon.

_Cardeia_


	5. Friend and Brother

**Disclaimer: **I do not own any of the character names, save my own original creations. I do not wish to be compensated for this work, nor do I wish to infringe on any copyrights held by any stakeholders of the movie King Arthur. This work is an original creation, based on the legend of King Arthur and his knights.

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**_Scribe note:_** Rowan Dash, thank you for your wonderful encouragement and excellent insight into chapter 4! I love the metaphor you gave for the dance sequence, it fits well! I agree, Lancelot is indeed a complex character and I should look at making his confusion more apparent to himself, even if he is to afraid to act on it.Your comments and review are most appreciated.

Yours, _Cardeia_

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**Chapter 5:** _**Friend and Brother**_

Cerys slipped out of the hall some time later, and returned with a stoppered clay vial, hidden closely to her skirts. She bent over Galahad, he nodded and took it from her, pocketing it before Gawain could turn around and offer Cerys a spot near his side. She rumpled his hair and giggled at something that he had said, and pointed over to her own plate, sitting abandoned beside Lancelot's. The dark-haired girl looked protectively to Galahad, but Galahad placated her with a nuzzle to her neck, which made her squeal with delight. Cerys shook her head at the action and made her way back over to Lancelot to sit down again.

"For Gawain?" He asked without looking up.

"Yes."

"Does it help?"

Cerys grimaced and shrugged, looking over to the brothers, who were now both feeding the dark haired girl strips of venison and letting her lick their fingers. She sighed and looked back, resting her chin on her hand. The night was winding down, and she was beginning to tire. Tomorrow morning was going to be a struggle to get up, and her head would be fuzzy.

"I only hope to the Gods that it does. It's temporary. He needs to face his demons or they will haunt him to his death. I just wish I knew what they were, so I could..."

"Cerys..."

"No, Lancelot, I do! All of you are important to me, Arthur is my kin! You go off to do battle and we women sit here and wait for your return, either riding triumphant or covered in a cloak. If I could only..."

Lancelot stretched a hand out to her and grabbed hers.

"I know."

She rubbed her face with her free hand and sighed again, her face showing her frustration. How could he know how much pacing she did, the endless watching on the wall at night, waiting for a dust cloud, or drumming hooves to signal their return? Of sleepless nights tossing in her bed­ding? If he only knew how helpless she felt when they were gone, how needy she was of their presence. Damn the Gods but she hated feeling so helpless!

Lancelot squeezed her hand and watched her for a moment. She took her hand back and rubbed the hem of her skirt between her thumb and index finger, looking down, her brow furrowed. Damn, she thought. Damn me for spouting off again.

Tristan came out of the shadows and joined the two, crouching down to grab an apple from the plate they were sharing. He looked coolly about as he cut a piece off and munched silently.

"Gazelle."

Cerys smiled up at him and pulled him down by the arm to sit with them. The compliment by way of nickname he had just paid her made her feel a bit lighter. There was no need to dark thoughts tonight, she admonished herself. She had not realized he had watched her dance, but was not surprised. He had a funny way of watching everyone. Cerys found it comforting.

"Watch changed over on the wall?" Lancelot asked him, sitting up and grabbing his cup.

Tristan nodded and popped another piece of apple into his mouth. He held a second sliver out to Cerys, without looking at her. Cerys pursed her lips as she regarded her friend, and instead of grabbing the slice with her hand, she grabbed a hold with her teeth and pulled it into her mouth. Oh how she enjoyed keeping Tristan on his toes!

When Cerys was a child, and Tristan a young recruit, he never spoke to her, only regarded her with those icy blue eyes, nodding at her when they crossed paths. She decided to make time to sit with him, and he taught her the ways of listening to the trees to find out the wind direction, the scrabble on the ground to signal which way a hare came from, the stillness required to tame a hawk. She learned to respect his solitude, and his need for silence. She wondered then how he had become so remote, but she treasured it. The other boys were so boisterous, and sometimes she craved stillness. So, she would just come and sit with him, waiting for him to notice her, and then show her the next natural wonder, all without a single word between them.

When Cerys left for Powys, he had followed her for a full day on his horse. When he caught up to her, he had simply said "Sister", thrust a braid of ribbon into her hands, then turned and gal­loped off. She had cried all that day until they stopped to camp. It was the first word he had ever spoken to her, and she knew a week's pay had gone into the ribbon for her hair. Indeed, then and now, he was just like a brother, albeit only slightly more talkative.

Tristan lowered his hand, looked at her, and a small but brief smile crossed his lips as he bit into yet another piece of apple.

Cerys thought "Success!" to herself as she chewed on hers. Such fun to make the once quiet boy, now serious knight, break a smile for her.

"Tristan, you know better than to hand feed a gazelle, they bite!" Lancelot jested, and tweaked Cerys' nose. Cerys wrinkled it in response and turned to Tristan.

"Sky is well?" She asked.

"Yes," Tristan replied as he swallowed, "Just an arrow graze to his flank."

More friends joined the gathering, with Arthur settled into a cushion just behind Lancelot, and Guinevere draping herself over Cerys. Guinevere half laughed, half grunted as she reached for the last apple on the plate between Cerys and Lancelot. Cerys grabbed it first and held it from her, her own laughter joining. They play-tousled for a moment and then Cerys handed it over. Guinevere stayed cuddled up to Cerys' hip, and they each threw an arm over the other amiably. Arthur nodded to Tristan and also asked about the watch and his horse.

"Such an evening! You two danced so well!" Guinevere muffled between bites of fruit.

"It was fun, I miss dancing when the men are gone." Cerys smiled, poking Lancelot in the chest, hinting.

"Well we are here now, and dancing you can have." Arthur said.

Lancelot gave a pained expression to Arthur and rolled his eyes. Cerys relaxed into Guinevere's warm embrace and regarded the men about her. Arthur, his dark eyes and set jaw relaxed and soft in the torch light, Tristan sitting cross-legged, eyes never stopping, roving the crowd. Lan­guid Lancelot, half-lidded with sleep, idly watching Galahad attempt to woo his dark-haired girl. Cerys sighed deeply and closed her eyes for a moment. Her knights were home, and she felt so content at that moment. She felt as if she was never happier. She must not let thoughts of their going again crowd out the fact that they were here now. Lancelot flicked a gaze to her at her noise, and she again fiddled with the hem of her dress as she felt his brown eyes find her. Why was he looking at her like that?

Somehow tonight she had seemed to have a different feeling around Lancelot. She wasn't quite sure why his glances were making her stomach flip, or why, when he touched her, her skin would feel cold when his hand departed. His kiss after their dance was normal enough, but... he was unnerving her, ever so slightly, especially stabbing his eyes at her like that! She pulled her earlobe softly with her other hand and thought on it a moment as the group's conversation ebbed over her head.

"It must be the wine." She mumbled to no one in particular.

"Sorry, I didn't catch what you just said." Arthur peered at her; his head cocked to one side.

"Oh, sorry, was just thinking out loud."

"Put your bloody tally sticks away and let's get some fresh air." Guinevere admonished and pulled Cerys to her feet. Cerys swayed and then collapsed into a heap back to the cushions. She flopped onto her back and stared at the hall ceiling, her hands half-covering her face in mock horror, her entire body shaking with laughter. Guinevere stood with hand on hip, a smile on her lips as well.

"I think it is time for sleep, based on my apparent lack of legs to stand on." She mumbled through her fingers.

Arthur helped her up and made the notion that indeed it was time to sleep. Cerys wrapped her arms about his waist and squeezed.

"Cousin, I have missed this." She said and looked up to him, chin resting on chest.

"I know." He said softly and looked down to her. He tucked her hair pins back into her hair, kissed the top of her head and then held a hand out to Guinevere. Cerys reluctantly detached herself from her cousin.

"Time, my wife?"

Guinevere nodded and took his hand. Cerys watched them leave, a bit wistful that they were headed to their apartments together. To have warm comfort, to wake up beside someone... She pushed the thought away. The wine and the long day together were making her think ridiculous thoughts late into the night, and she was in no condition to work herself up about it! She needed sleep! Tomorrow she would be busy, with no time to reflect on a sore head or aching body.

The rest of the knights slowly rose. Galahad had the dark-haired girl leading the way, and was carrying Gawain, now completely intoxicated, across his back, like a sack of flour. Gawain woke up briefly to blow a kiss to Cerys and then loll his head back to Gawain's shoulder. Per­ceval caught up to the brothers and helped shoulder the burden out into the night. Bors and Lorina had long since retired, and the rest of the hall was either snoring or quiet conversation. The torches again burned low.

Cerys looked about her, and hooked an arm in Tristan's, as he too rose. She smiled up at him and he motioned with his head back to Lancelot as they headed towards the door. She looked back to see if Lancelot was going to join them, but he had fallen asleep where he was laying, comfortable in the cushions, his chest rising and falling, his arm flung across his eyes.

Cerys yawned and shook her head. "He'll sleep better there than if we woke him to go to his rooms I think."

Tristan yawned at that point too, blinked and licked his lips. He took breath as if to say some­thing, but then didn't, just smiled. Cerys patted his arm with her fingers stuck through the crook of his elbow, and they continued walking through the compound to her door. Tristan left her and continued on into the darkness to his own rooms, looking back once to make sure her door was closed, and the noise of the bolt sliding shut evident. Cerys listened to his footfalls out her window and then fell, face first into her bedding, falling asleep the instant she tucked her feet up off the floor.

Her last thought before she became oblivious to the world was of Lancelot spinning just out of her reach when they danced, mischievous eyes daring her to catch him.

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Dear Reader,

And thus another chapter is born! Please do read and review, I appreciate any and all feedback, and will reply personally if I can. The only way to become great writers is to exercise the writing muscle, so that it becomes strong and flexible, able to wield the pen with ease. Sometimes the only way a muscle can get stronger is with encouragement from others.

May your writing muscles be strong and your thoughts flow freely through them!

_Cardeia_


	6. Heart in Storage

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the character names, save my own original creations. I do not wish to be compensated for this work, nor do I wish to infringe on any copyrights held by any stakeholders of the movie King Arthur. This work is an original creation, based on the legend of King Arthur and his Knights.

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**_Scribe Note:_**

_History2:_ Thank you for your kind words of encouragement. I am enjoying developing characters that know each other so well, yet do not at the same time. Bringing love to a deep friendship is never easy, and I hope I can convey it well.

_Winged Seraph:_ Thank you for your enthusiasm! Yes, Tristan's character is so quiet, and I decided that this would be a perfect opportunity to delve into him as well, without trying to get him out of his shell. I'll save that for another story. He's fun to speculate about!

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**Chapter 6:** _**Heart in Storage**_

Lancelot's head was aching. He should never have agreed to meet Bors for a morning work.

This was the third day in a row he had woken up from a night of drinking with the same after effects. He vaguely remembered falling over at a table in the common, and having Perceval pick him up by his tunic and dragging him to a random straw pile in the doorway to the stable. Per­ceval had not been overly gentle, and Lancelot had a new scrape on one elbow to prove it. He winced as it rubbed against his tunic. Of all the battle scars he had taken in his life, why did scrapes when drunk hurt far worse?

Lancelot had woken in the exact spot where Perceval had dumped him, with a nanny goat lick­ing his cheek and braying affectionately, stumpy tail wagging. He hadn't even had time to change to more suitable clothing, and had come straight to the armoury yard, finding Bors wait­ing. That was when his damned head had exploded, and he'd spent the next 5 humiliating mo­ments retching behind the archery targets, with Bors hooting in laughter from the other side.

And now, here he was bouncing about in the morning sun with a short sword, as if he had rested fully in his own rooms. By the Gods his head was going to split wide open if Bors did not stop bellowing so loudly!

"You have straw in your hair, and you smell like a goat's ass." Bors hissed as they locked their short swords together and came face to face.

"Better smell than look." Lancelot grunted as he shoved off and they began their pattern again.

The two circled on foot, thrusting forward, parrying, blocking. The sound of iron hitting iron rang out into the morning air, still quiet within the fort.

Normally Lancelot liked early mornings, and a chance to work with Bors first thing was always enjoyable. But today, not so much. Today, he would much rather be back in the damned straw with the nanny goat, sleeping off that accursed wine.

Lancelot danced away lightly in bare feet as Bors lunged once more. His boots were discarded, being soft with a light sole, not very good at keeping your feet in a spar. Bors was wearing his riding boots, and bits of stone cracked under his feet as he spun on hobnails, or pushed off with his toes. Lancelot felt like it was cat claws across the top of a bronze shield, the sound vibrating his back teeth. He blinked and shook his head.

"You're slow today, have a roll in the stable with a girl last night? She wear you out, Goat?" Bors bellowed again as he swung at Lancelot's head.

"No, are you always this clumsy?"

Lancelot ducked sideways and heard the blade sing past his ear. He righted himself, feinted left and came up, whacking Bors loudly on his backside with the side of his sword as he passed him. That was a satisfying noise, Lancelot thought to himself, chest heaving as he shifted the sword to his other hand, waiting for Bors to turn around.

Bors grunted and lunged at Lancelot, who again feinted and whirled just in time to trip Bors over onto his side. He stood and pointed the sword tip to Bors' chest as he rolled to his back and at­tempted to rise.

"Point."

Bors laughed and held up a hand for Lancelot to lift him to his feet. They both smiled and clasped each others shoulders, walking to the edge of the yard, their morning exercise finished for now.

Lancelot sat on a block of wood and set his sword to one side, propping himself on his knees. He wiped his brow and motioned to Bors, who was ladling water up from a bucket and drinking, to pass the ladel to him. They both sat for a time, allowing their breathing to come back to nor­mal, stretching out arm muscles. Lancelot was glad to be resting, and he turned to crack his back. First left, then right, sighing at the pop that sounded. Straw piles were not easy on the back, he mused.

"You sound like a creaking wagon." Bors muttered as he picked up his sword and a cloth from a pouch nearby.

"Been sleeping rough." Lancelot grumbled in reply, also picking up his sword.

They sat for a few more moments, each testing their blade edges, examining the surfaces for faults. Lancelot had borrowed a sword from behind the armoury door, his were in his rooms with no time to grab them.

Normally, Lancelot carried two Roman gladius swords, as well as two roman daggers, one in his left greave, one at his hip. He cared not for larger clunkier swords like what they had used this morning, but, when in battle, losing a weapon happened all the time. Lancelot prided him­self on being able to pick up any type of weapon and use it well. He could shoot a bow, use a broadsword, spear, or roman short sword. He had even tried out Gawain's cudgel and found it made a fine cracking noise when brought against the side of a Saxon skull. He did, however, detest Arthur's sword. How the man didn't pull his shoulder out each time he swung that huge monster was beyond him.

No matter if your own weapon or not, each piece was cared for properly. Lancelot noted that the tang on the blade he had borrowed was showing slightly above the prongs. He wiggled it. Sat­isfied that it would not drop in his hand, he rested the blade across his legs and looked out into the yard, pensive look crossing his face. Bors pulled out his curved hand blades from their scab­bards and continued with the cleaning ritual, not noticing Lancelot's lack of movement.

Curse his head for thinking such strange thoughts for the past three days! For some reason, he couldn't shake this feeling of loneliness that had enveloped him since their return home. He rubbed his face with his hand, grimacing at the thumping in his head. The wine was not the an­swer to keep his brain quiet, he knew that. Neither was waking up in a straw pile with an amorous goat.

"Bors?" Lancelot asked as he leaned over to grab some sand in his hand.

"What?" Bors grunted, looking over at him.

"What's it like to come home to Lorina every night, to all your children? Do you ever wish for something simpler sometimes?"

Bors regarded his friend, lips pursed out, thinking.

"Well, no. My little ones are my pride and joy. Lorina, she takes care of me. If and when I go, I know there will be enough of Bors left in this world to keep my name, and I want to see them grow and carry it on with pride. Lorina would have my hide if I tried to leave anyways." He said, the last part with a smile.

Lancelot nodded and spread the sand across the width of the blade in his lap. He smoothed it out over the blade, then rubbed slowly back and forth, feeling the grit running between his fingers and the iron. He picked up more sand from the floor, and repeated the process. The action was soothing, and he would spend the hours at night when away from the fort rubbing any available sand into his twin blades, making them shine, making the edges slice cleanly using his flint rock. He let his eyes defocus as he fell into the rhythm. Back and forth, pick up more sand. Back and forth, flip the blade, start over.

Why had he asked Bors about his family? Strange, he had never cared to ask out loud before what he already knew. Lancelot decided that he had hit his head when he fell the night before, or was in need of a sound whack to clear these thoughts now.

"You're thinkin' too much." Bors grunted as he stood, his blades clean.

"Lancelot smirked and waved a hand to Bors. "Idle chatter, nothing more."

Bors made a sound in his throat and picked up his scabbards, thrusting each curved blade home. He looked down at the younger knight.

"Perhaps it's time you found a girl and had yourself a few little ones. Nothing like it for the ego."

Lancelot looked up and stiffened. "No, not yet." he replied, dropping the sand from his hands and getting up from his seat.

Bors raised an eyebrow at the response. "Well, if not that, then by Gods you need to visit the baths. You really do smell like a goat's ass."

Lancelot relaxed at that and laughed. Bors gave him another pat on the shoulder and gathered up his things. They walked out into the alleyway between the armoury practice yard and the stables. With a nod from each of them, Lancelot headed towards his rooms and Bors to his.

Lancelot opened his door and looked around. His clothes were scattered, his chest heaved open and shirts, doublets and various woolen socks hung over the sides, left where they were pawed out of the way. Dust covered the surface of the unused table in the corner, his swords, still in scabbards, piled in a corner. The hearth hadn't been used in so long that cobwebs criss-crossed its mouth, softly blowing in and out with the air exchange from the chimney above.

He sighed and cursed at his ability to make a mess so quickly. When had he last slept in here? He couldn't remember. He sat on the edge of his bed, fingers curled around the wood edge, dis­turbing more dust. This wasn't a home, it was a storage room! He thought briefly on Bors, now back to his rooms with his children, Lorina handing him his cup as he sat with the baby in the crook of his arm and for the oddest reason, he almost wanted to weep. Almost...

He suddenly had the urge to go visit Cerys. She would be up and in the kitchens baking bread, and he could chat with her. He could picture her. She would have her sleeves rolled up, flour across her face, red from the heat of the oven. She would be smiling and laughing with the women. His stomach growled to confirm the good idea, and he quickly pulled on his boots and rolled down his wool trews. He changed into an open front tunic, and grabbed his coin pouch.

Cerys had not been in the kitchens, so he had teased one of the cook's daughters while stealing some dried nuts from the bowl beside her and he left. He munched on them as he made his way over to the baths. Maybe this was what he needed. A good soak, a massage and a trim for his hair. He hadn't had that done yet. Clean himself up and his thoughts would stop being so muddy as well. Then, he would just get to his duties and this silliness in his head would leave.

"Lonliness, bah! You're just being soft." He said out loud.

He whistled as he walked along, his head feeling a bit clearer.

* * *

**_Dear Reader:_**

Men deny themselves what they need all the time, with our midieval men being no exception. Despite being so strong of muscle andcharacter, they have the same weakness we all do, being human.

Please review! Any and all comments are truly welcome. I wish your imaginations a safe flight through the skies of your stories.

_Cardeia_


	7. No Control

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the character names, save my own original creations. I do not wish to be compensated for this work, nor do I wish to infringe on any copyrights held by any stakeholders of the movie King Arthur. This work is an original creation, based on the legend of King Arthur and his Knights.

* * *

**Chapter 7:** _**No Control**_

Cerys looked up from her spot in the corner of the baths as a shadow crossed through the shaft of light hitting the steam escaping from the pool. She would not normally have been in the baths at this time of day, and was hoping to be alone with her thoughts.

Ever since their dinner the first night back, she had been so confused over the way she was feel­ing around Lancelot. He was her best friend and she was acting like she was just getting to know him for the first time! She had been avoiding the men for the past three days because of this, diving into her work like a madwoman. That she could control. Her head, seemingly, right now she was having trouble with.

Dammit, her dress was hanging on the far wall.

"Who's there?" She asked, her voice echoing along the stone walls of the small fort bath.

"Cerys?"

Cerys waded over to the side of the pool closest to the door, resting her arms up on the side. "Lancelot! Good to see you finally got away from your nanny goat! What a prize she must have thought she had!"

Lancelot crouched down so that he was visible to her. She could see he had been working, the sweat on his forehead had caught dust and dirt, and ran in streaks down his face. Similar marks creased his torso. She smiled to him, teasing him. He smiled back, winking.

"Gods, did everyone see me on that pile this morning?" He said, putting his coin sack down and straightening to lift off his open tunic.

"Only myself and Nimli as we went to the kitchens this morning." Cerys laughed, her tongue stuck out between her teeth. She watched him take off his tunic, then unlace his trews. She turned herself to look away as she waded back to her spot in the pool, to give him some privacy, as was the usual when she shared the baths with other people.

With an audible sigh, she heard him splash down into the water. She closed her eyes. She lis­tened to him dunk himself underwater, then come up for air just across from her. Why was she so nervous all of a sudden? Of all the people to be nervous about sharing the baths with, it shoul­dn't be him, her closest friend. Her stomach did another flip. They had shared the baths, many times before. This was no different.

"Of all the things those bloody Romans left us with, I thank them for this." Lancelot sighed. She could hear him splash softly as he settled deeper into the warm pool on one of the stone seats.

Cerys opened her eyes and regarded the man across from her. His hair hung in spirals, plastered to his forehead and neck, his long eyelashes dark against his cheeks as he relaxed against the side of the pool, eyes closed. His muscles shone wetly where the morning light from the win­dows hit them, scars from old wounds running pink across his chest, his arms. She could remem­ber some of them, having been there with thread and needle to help Dafydd sew him up after some battle or other. She had heated up the iron to cauterize some of them, changed dressings for others when the healer was too busy. She did that for all the knights. It was part of her duties as both head of the household and surrogate sister.

She scanned his chest for one scar in particular, just above his heart. Her stomach leapt again, this time for the memory, when she found it.

He had come home draped in a cloak from that particular outing. Arthur had galloped in with his horse in tow, screaming for Cerys and Dafydd. Cerys had come running in time to see Arthur hefting Lancelot off of the horse and onto the ground. She was startled to see him still in full battle armour, Lancelot the same. She had screamed and ran towards them, but Arthur's cheeks, covered in tears, made her stop, skid and run for Dafydd's rooms. Cerys didn't remember many details after that, just the long hours of pacing while they pulled the crossbow bolt out of Lance­lot's chest, the screams as they cleaned and cauterized the wound and then the waiting to see if he would live. She had spent the whole time running for water or boiling cloth to dress the wound, the night at that point being a blur. He had almost died, and Cerys took late night watch on him once he had been set­tled, Arthur sitting across from her, still in battle armour, asleep with legs sprawled. She could still see the firelight reflected off his bloodsplashed and dented cuirass as he lay in that chair, her on the other side watching Lancelot and Arthur alternately. Never before had she been so scared to lose one of her knights before, and since that day, whenever they left for any reason, it made her worry and pace and have horrible dreams about what she saw when Arthur had galloped in and laid out Lancelot on the ground, blood pouring from his wound.

"Cerys? Are you alright?" Lancelot said.

Cerys had not realized she had been remembering so vividly, and blinked. Lancelot was now beside her in the pool, looking concerned. How had he gotten here? She had not heard him wade over.

"Oh... I'm fine! Really..." She fumbled. She averted her gaze again and clasping her hands un­der the water. She wanted desperately to reach out and trace the crescent moon shape of the scar. Why was she thinking such strange thoughts around him since his return? This was madness.

"No, you aren't. Arthur says you have been tired more lately, that Guinevere says you have been getting up earlier and retiring late while we are gone." He said softly.

"Oh."

"Cerys? You know you can tell me, I'll listen." He said, moving to her side to sit again, sub­merging himself in the water once more.

Cerys nodded, and looked away, biting her lip. She wanted to tell him that she was fine, that all was well. In truth she had been getting up earlier and retiring later, and yes, Guinevere had found her twice in the clothrooms window sill soundly asleep. But, not for the reasons that Lancelot was thinking now, she was not sick or tired. She turned to face him again, trying desperately to put a smile to her face.

"I am fine Lancelot, this time of year is hard on everyone, with winter to prepare for. I just need to be taken up and danced with more often!" She smiled, attempting to jest with him and lighten the mood taking effect between them.

He raised an eyebrow to her and cleared his throat. Their eyes met and he held her there for a moment. He was looking at her like that again! Stabbing eyes... it was making her very self-conscious.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like you are... are... oh!" Cerys spurted and waded away from Lancelot. She needed to put some space between them; this closeness was muddling her thoughts.

She felt a hand on her arm.

"Cerys, please... Have I done something to make you angry?"

This was not the exchange she wanted. Her friend was worried about her and she was behaving like he was treating her poorly! She was so happy to have the men home. But... She was working herself so hard since they had come home, cooped up for hours inside taking care of provision lists and food stores, organizing staff schedules... Baking, cooking, preserving for winter... Damn her thoughts! They were ruling her head this past few days and it had to stop! She had responsibilities and she needed to keep a level head for handling them. She should not be so testy.

She rubbed her hands over her face, feeling the warmth from her wet hands across her cheeks making her skin prickle once she lowered them. She turned around in the water to apologize. He was only inches from her, and she became keenly aware that they were both naked. She looked up at him and their eyes locked, his showing her the concern he had.

Cerys felt like her knees were going to give way at that moment. She put a hand out to his arm to steady herself and took a deep breath. Silly girl, she admonished. She could not tear her eyes away from his, and for a moment they just stood there, looking at one another. She bit her lip again and slowly, as if possessed by another woman entirely, reached up with her other hand and traced the crescent moon scar above his heart. She left her fingers on it for a moment, blinking slowly, moving her gaze from his eyes to his scar.

Lancelot grabbed her hand, and his other hand left her arm and found its way around her shoul­ders. He pulled her into him and groaned softly.

"I am alright, and I will be. I know that when we leave you that you worry. I wish I could tell you that we will always come back, but I can't and you know it. Short of immortality, we can do nothing but do our best to come home again." He said thickly. She could hear his throat work­ing as he swallowed. Damn her insensitivity to their station as knights. She should know better!

She nodded against his chest. He took breath again. "And you need to stop working so hard. Put your tally sticks away for today and come on a hunt with me. I think Tristan and Gawain are coming too. It will relax you."

With that said, he released her slightly and looked down to her. She felt his gaze and again their eyes caught. Her breasts were pressed up against his chest, his arms holding her close. Her heart beat was racing.

What was going on here? She thought. She wanted to push away from him but found herself unable to move. This had never happened before with them, and she was scared, but felt so warm. She thought that this was him comforting her, albeit naked in a bath, but it was comfort from a friend no less.

She heard him moan ever so softly from somewhere deep in his chest and he lowered his head and kissed her lightly on her lips, his arms locking her close. He kissed her again, this time a little harder, another groan escaping him. She felt, somewhere beneath the water, his manhood rising up to brush her thigh.

Cerys somehow found the strength and pushed away from him. This was so unlike him! She brought a shaking hand to her lips. This was not comfort from a friend.

"Cerys, I..."

The look on his face told her that he was truly sorry for what had just happened. She could see his eyes, pleading for her understanding, his throat working again, as he tried to get words out. He started towards her but she held up a hand. She did not want him any closer, this was getting out of control and she had to stop it. She was not going to let this happen! How stupid of her to have stayed in the baths. She should have gotten out when he arrived.

"I think I should go and leave you to your baths." She said, voice shaking along with her hand.

She backed up to the stairway, climbed out and quickly grabbed her dress. She quickly threw it over her head, pulling it down so hard that she heard a few seams rip. Bloody curses, but she was so mad at herself right now!

"Cerys..." He was still moving towards the stairway out of the pool, his hand running across the top of his head in frustration.

She could hear him calling her name as she ran from the baths, her dress sticking wetly to her body, her hair flying in all directions. She did not stop until she reached her own rooms, where she threw herself to her bed and sobbed.

* * *

**Dear Reader:**

Angst is a necessary part of opening the heart to what you had never thought there. Please let me know if I have properly captured the confusion that Cerys feels at her lack of control over her thoughts for our dear Lancelot

Thank you for your reviews and I look forward to more chapters to share with you.

_Cardeia_


	8. Pride Be Damned

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the character names, save my own original creations. I do not wish to be compensated for this work, nor do I wish to infringe on any copyrights held by any stakeholders of the movie King Arthur. This work is an original creation, based on the legend of King Arthur and his Knights.

* * *

**_Scribe Note:_**

_Winged Seraph:_ I am glad that I made you laugh! Humour is an area I need to work on, and I will endeavour to make you laugh again. Bors reminds me so much of a wonderful man I dated a few years back, and I enjoy writing him, adding bits in of my own memories. Thank you for your continued support! It keeps my pen moving more than you know.

_Nitestar:_ Your comments are most appreciated. Yes, Lancelot's loneliness, making him think strange thoughts is certainly going to make him do strange things and then regret them. I hope that I can portray these feelings, his own confusion and self-beratement well enough. The way Ioan protrayed him in the movie has given me more than enough fodder to bring his angst to life through his body language.

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**Chapter 8:** **_Pride Be Damned_**

"Damn, Damn, Damn, Damn... DAMN!"

A brush went flying out of a stall and hit the dirt in the centre of the stables with a thud. It rolled over a few times, and came to rest at Arthur's feet. He bent and picked it up, shaking off the sand.

"I believe this is yours?" He held out the brush to Lancelot, who was standing beside his horse in his stall, his forehead rested on the horse's flank, his arm above his head, supporting him. The other hand had its finger in his mouth, sucking the blood from a new wound, which had obvi­ously made him swear.

"Leave it on the edge, I'll get it in a moment." he mumbled through fingers.

Arthur set the brush down, crossed his arms and stood there, waiting. Lancelot could feel his friend standing just outside the horses stall, with those benevolent eyes, waiting for him to come to his senses. He could be so stubborn sometimes. Couldn't he see that he just wanted to be alone?

"Damn." he said again as he took his finger out of his mouth. The bristles on the brush had somehow gotten underneath his fingernail, and now he had a lovely blood blister right on the tip.

"That's a lot of hatred for a brush." Arthur chuckled, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

"Well it bloody well bit me." Lancelot spat.

Lancelot straightened up from his horse and realized the hilarity of the situation. He chuckled softly and continued doing so as he left his horse's stall and crossed over to the benches to sit and examine his finger in the light. Arthur walked over to join him, putting one foot up on the lower bench and leaning over to examine Lancelot's finger.

"Better see Dafydd to pierce the fingernail or you'll be swollen by nightfall."

Lancelot glared up at his friend and then slumped into his seat. What a day. First he had made a complete disaster of Cerys, now he had rendered his right index finger incapable of stringing a bow! What next? He glared up at the roof, daring it to fall on his head.

Arthur sat down beside him. "Alright, what is eating at you? Get smacked by a girl again, or does sleeping in straw not agree with your demeanour?"

Lancelot sighed and rubbed his good hand over his chin. How was he supposed to tell his com­mander that he had kissed his cousin that morning in the baths naked and sent her sobbing back to her rooms? How was he supposed to explain that he had no idea why he did it? And how did he know about where he slept the night before? Bloody gossips in the kitchens...

"It's been a bad day."

"I can see that. Care to share with a friend?"

"No."

Arthur picked up a bit of hay and twiddled it in his fingers. Lancelot watched him out of the corner of his eye, waiting for the man to leave him in peace. When he didn't seem to give the notion that he was leaving, Lancelot sighed and leaned forward, balancing his elbows on his knees, pressing his knuckles into his forehead.

"You're not leaving, are you."

"No."

Lancelot blew air out from between his lips and looked sideways at his friend, glaring at him. It might be good to discuss the situation with someone who knew Cerys as well as he did. Maybe Arthur would give him a good smack and tell him to get a grip and behave himself. Is that what he needed? He wasn't sure. He really wasn't in the mood for preaching. He wasn't in a mood for anything except to stew over his apparent lack of brains, and his now throbbing finger. Blast but he wished the day had not happened. He sat up again.

"Well, this morning, I went to the baths and Cerys was there."

Arthur nodded, folding his hands over a propped up knee.

"And, well... she seemed upset so I asked her what was wrong, and then she walked away from me, then I grabbed her and we were naked and..."

"Wait a moment," Arthur straightened and raised his eyebrows. "You were naked?"

"We were in the water."

"Oh."

"And I kissed her and she..." Lancelot stopped abruptly, looking at the ground in front of his feet.

Arthur suppressed a smile and shifted in his seat. He cleared his throat.

"Did she kiss you back?"

Lancelot got up from where he was sitting and began to pace in front of the benches, his fingers to his temples, wincing as the blood blister pushed against skin. He was having a harder time with this than he thought he would. He felt Arthur's stare grinding into him. He licked his lips and looked out the doorway of the stable. Damn.

"She ran from me."

"Oh." was all Arthur said.

"What do you mean Oh? She bloody ran from me! I kissed her and I scared her half out of her whits and now..." He yelled, arms out flung, his eyes flaring, the anger he was feeling towards himself showing. He turned on his heel and stalked towards the edge of the hitching area. Arthur got up from his seat and followed Lancelot, who was now leaning against a post, arms crossed.

Lancelot kicked at the dirt. Lancelot shoved the post with his shoulder.

Lancelot was sulking.

"It was not my intention." He blurted, hands flying from his sides, palms out, showing his con­fusion.

Arthur nodded and grasped Lancelot by the shoulder. Lancelot turned to regard his friend.

"Look at me. What's done is done. You need to go talk to her. Both of you need to clear this. She means too much for you to leave it."

Lancelot turned. His eyes were burning, and he dashed at them with his hands. Gods, he was not going to come to tears over this! He was being a bloody milksop! Where was his control? Why had this shaken him so much?

"How do I tell her that I wanted to kiss her, that I..." He groaned, "She seemed so upset and I wanted to comfort her. I don't understand what came over me. We were there and suddenly I just wanted to..."

Arthur nodded again. "It's alright Lancelot, these things happen."

Lancelot looked across at his friend. How was he supposed to think that? These things did not just happen to him, he thought bitterly. Women loved his charm and his mischief. Women never ran from him, and if they smacked him for his boorishness, it wasn't a huge matter. He would laugh and go on to the next one. He always had a way with women... well, until now.

Cerys... she was different... She was as close to him as any sister, or any one of the men. What happened with her mattered. And, to make matters worse, she had made it quite obvious that their friendship had met its boundary when she ran from him in the baths. He was so mad at himself for hurting her when she so obviously needed comfort. He had taken advantage of her, and he loathed himself for it.

"She won't forgive me, you know how she is." He said slowly.

Arthur regarded his friend and sighed. "You need to find her, clear this or you will be in a foul humour for the rest of the day. I am sure you just startled her and all will be well after you talk. She cares for you and I am sure it will all be fine."

Lancelot nodded, swallowing.

"You breathe a word of this to anyone and I will make you regret it."

Arthur held up his hands. "You have my word that I will not."

Lancelot nodded, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand and sniffed again. Arthur was right, he was always right. Lancelot envied Arthur for his level head sometimes. He needed to set things right with Cerys, pride bedamned.

Arthur patted his shoulder once more and left the stables, knowing perfectly well that Lancelot needed to think. Lancelot put his injured finger back into his mouth to quell the pain and kicked the post he had been leaning against.

"Damn..." He muttered one more time, hobbling out of the stable towards Dafydd's offices.

* * *

**Dear Reader:**

Lacnelot certainly is confused! The muse for this chapter was the exchange between Arthur and Lancelot before they ride out to rescue Alecto and his family. The anger in Lancelot's speech, the way he roared his response of "I choose LIFE..." made me remember how passionately he feels, and how close to the surface it is. I hope I have portrayed his confusion well, and given you, dear reader, an insight into his character.

_Cardeia_


	9. Hunting for Forgiveness

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the character names, save my own original creations. I do not wish to be compensated for this work, nor do I wish to infringe on any copyrights held by any stakeholders of the movie King Arthur. This work is an original creation, based on the legend of King Arthur and his Knights.

* * *

**Chapter 9:** **_Hunting for Forgiveness_**

Cerys sat in her chair by the hearth in the kitchen and picked away at a goose. She stared off into the empty doorway as she slowly picked each feather out.

"What's got into her?" One of the kitchen girls asked, as she emptied a bucket of water into the kettle.

"Not sure, came in this way awhile ago, asked if she could help with dinner. Tried to tell her that it weren't necessary, but 'ere she is." Another woman answered.

Cerys picked another feather and let it fall to the floor. She sighed, and without looking down, turned the goose and continued plucking. What had gotten into Lancelot? What had gotten into her? This morning had been a total muck-up, and she had no idea what had possessed her these past few days. To top it off, she had run from him! She knew she had hurt him, and she should have stayed and let him apologize. She was such a coward. He had startled her so much, and his kiss...

She pressed fingers to her lips and closed her eyes, remembering. Is that what friends did for comfort? She had no idea; she had never been kissed like that before. It certainly was different. Even now her stomach was flipping inside out thinking about it. She opened her eyes again and sat, goose in lap, hands settled on top, not moving.

"Cerys?" a voice jolted her out of her thoughts.

She looked up and smiled. Gawain was standing in front of her, bow and quiver in hand, dressed to ride out.

"You coming for a hunt today? It's too nice a day not to try and get a brace of pheasant before dusk."

Cerys pursed her lips together and knitted her brow. Perhaps a ride out with her hawk and some good friends would cheer her. Give her a moments respite from Lancelot crowding her thoughts. She needed to get back to even and concentrate on her work, there was still much to do. Besides, while she was out she could take stock of the fields and begin to work up the harvest schedules for the men.

"Yes. I would love to come! Let me run and change into my riding clothes, and we can meet out in front of the stables?"

Gawain nodded, a smile quirking his lips. He grabbed the goose from her hands and handed it to one of the other women. He winked at the woman and she nodded back, a secret passing be­tween them in their glances. Cerys got up from her chair brushing dander and feathers off her dress. She kissed Gawain's cheek and patted his arm.

"Next time, try to be less obvious in your collusion with my staff to get me out of the way." She said as she turned to leave.

Gawain, bow slung over his shoulder again, raised an eyebrow and feigned innocence, but laughed when she shook a finger at him, her own smile spreading across her face.

"Go on with you, get your clothes, I will see that Tristan brings your hawk when he gets Isaac."

Cerys nodded and walked out into the afternoon sun to her rooms. She changed into leather trews, linen tunic and a leather waistcoat. She re-banded her hair and grabbed her leather armlet for her hawk to perch on. Tightening the laces around her arm, she decided that it was good in­deed that Gawain had "found" her in the kitchens. This would be a good respite from inside the walls. She had not gotten out much. Fresh air, a gallop, and a good hunt were in order. She smiled and began to hum to herself as she looked for her boots.

She found them, pulled them on and laced them quickly. She stuffed a small dagger into the top of her right boot, where a sheath of leather had been sewn for it. She stopped and fingered the hilt lightly, rubbing a spot of dirt off the knob on the end. This had been a gift from Lancelot not more than a year ago, and she never rode out without it. She sat down on the bed and pulled the dagger back out, turning it in the light. This was silliness, truly. She breathed in deeply and sagged.

She would have to find him and set this straight. They were too good of friends to let this sort of nonsense get between them. Of course he would want to comfort her, and of course his male urges would get the better of him! She was naked and pressed against him! They had gotten him into so much trouble in the past, what would make her nakedness, that temptation, any different? It was simply a misunderstanding. She closed her eyes a moment again, and warmth spread through her abdomen as she thought of his arms around her, his gaze into her eyes... She shook her head and blinked.

"Stop it!" She hissed to herself.

She slid the dagger back into its sheath and got up from the bed, clenching and unclenching her hands. Focus! She thought, and retied her left laces again to make sure they were properly knot­ted.

Much as she enjoyed wearing her dresses, she felt the pants and boots were much more practi­cal, and she pranced out a few steps, feeling the freedom from the layers of cloth in her skirts. Her station required her to dress as a lady when in the fort, but when out with her knights she could do as she pleased, and she pleased to ride out in a more practical gear. She had long been teased for it by some of the men, but she steadfastly refused to wear skirts when on her horse.

The last thing she grabbed from her rooms was her small bow and quiver. She might need them if she was lucky enough to get a shot in before the men! Most times she did not, but it was worth it, just in case.

As she walked towards the stables, she saw Jols pull her small chestnut mare out to stand beside Tristan's grey, Sky. Ah yes, Gawain had mentioned that Tristan was coming. She heard a squawk as she saw Tristan come around the corner, with Isaac and her hawk perched on either shoulder.

He smiled when he saw her, and as she drew close her hawk lit from his shoulder and landed on her outstretched arm. She clicked to him softly and he settled. Out of her pocket she grabbed a hood, and carefully tied it on, then feeding him a piece of bread from her other pocket.

"Ready?" Tristan asked when she stopped at his side.

She nodded. She moved her hawk onto her saddle and with Jols' help, mounted up. Tristan swung up beside her on Sky. She heard another two horses come out behind her from the stable and turned in the saddle to greet Gawain.

"Here you were ready before me, and yet you dawdle?" She said as she turned.

Her smile faded as she saw Lancelot swinging into his own saddle, his bay dancing sideways and mouthing at his bit. She swallowed and pressed a hand to her stomach. Oh dear, perhaps he would not leave her thoughts while she galloped after all. She turned again to look forward. She had forgotten that he had mentioned the hunt this morning before... Well, before they had... Her cheeks reddened and she looked away, blinking back tears she was sure would come if she did not steel herself.

Tristan looked back to Lancelot, who was checking a strap from his saddle, and had ignored the remark. He then glanced forward to Cerys, who was biting her lips hard and looking anywhere but in the direction of the knights. His brow furrowed.

Gawain mounted up on his light grey mare Demetia and nodded to Tristan as he rode past.

"Let's ride." Gawain said, wiggling eyebrows, looking back to the rest of the group, broad grin across his face.

Tristan nodded and clucked softly to move out with his horse. Cerys followed, with Lancelot in tow behind. Cerys could swear she felt Lancelot's eyes burning into the back of her head. She could not wait until they were out of the gates and she could loose her hawk and gallop. She would ride out her confusion, escape its grip and leave it behind in the dust.

They walked and trotted for a time, letting the horses warm their muscles. Lancelot seemed qui­et, and Gawain's attempts to get him to talk eventually stopped, and they rode in silence. Cerys kept her eyes forward and spent her time making small kissing noises at her hawk, keeping his attention to her. Tristan seemed oblivious to the tension between the two and rode languidly, eyes roaming the woods around them, humming occasionally to Isaac, who twittered back. The birds knew what was afoot, and would screech and flutter if one didn't make small comforting noises.

They turned from the main road onto a valley path and Tristan stopped his horse. He looked to Cerys and nodded. She nodded back and they unhooded their hawks. Cerys raised her arm up and flung hers into the air first, Tristan following suit. A flurry of wings and squawking sur­rounded them for a moment, then a keening cry from Isaac as he spotted prey. Tristan's head snapped up and followed the hawk's flight.

Cerys looked to him, and a smile lit his face as he looked back to her. He pointed and she raised an eyebrow.

"HA!" Came the cry from her lips as she booted her horse forward in the direction the hawks had gone. Her horse bunched under her, muscles tensing, then exploding. Her heart pounded as they leapt through the air and landed in a hard gallop, her mare pulling at the rein, stretching her neck.

She could hear hoofbeats beside her and looked to her left to see Gawain riding up her flank, eyes bright, blonde hair flying. He was laughing now, giving the horse leg and slapping with rein.

"Oh you think it's that easy do you?" She yelled and spurred her mare to move out more. The mare obliged and she felt her hooves fly as she gained ground from Gawain. Oh the sweetness of a gallop! She let out cry of victory and thundered on, Gawain's yelp of surprise drowning in the sound of hoof beats and snorting as the horses cleared their lungs.

From her right she heard another set of hooves and out of the corner of her eye saw Lancelot's bay come up beside her. She grimaced. She kept pace with him for a moment. She could see his eyes forward, his jaw set, leaning close over his bays neck, hands clenched to rein. He was such a good rider, and her mare's legs would not keep up to the stride capable from Klyndd. She let him pass, tucking in behind him as they leaned through a bend in the road. Dust came up from his horses hooves and she turned her head into her horse's mane to protect her eyes.

Normally this would have given way to some smart comment from him, but today he was silent. Cerys cursed herself quietly at their awkward situation and clicked to her horse to keep up to Lancelot's horse's fast disappearing bay rump.

"Left fork!" She heard Tristan yell above the din of hooves. The group veered left and continued following the road, now at the edge of a field. Tristan pulled up her right, level with her mare, and they galloped together in stride, letting their horses out a bit more. Tristan's braids were fly­ing through the air, and she could see his eyes sparkling, his normally tight face relaxed and fo­cused on riding hard. She delighted when he showed his happiness. It was a bright point to the day for her. She relaxed a bit as well. Awkward situation or no, this was enjoyable.

Cerys could see the hawks circling up ahead to the right, and raised her arm to signal that they should slow. Tristan pulled right into the field, slowing before Cerys could pull up.

"Here!" Yelled Gawain and he too sat up to pull his horse in. Cerys slowed her mare to a soft canter, then circled easily back to join the group. She could hear Lancelot coming back up be­hind her again, his horse's hoof beats slowing as he too pulled up.

All four of them were panting, the horses snorting, jingling their tack with shaking heads as they slowed to a walk and struck out into the field where the hawks were circling. Cerys could not help but smile and she patted her mares arched neck to soothe her.

"Cerys." She heard the voice to her left. She turned her head to regard Lancelot, her eyes setting, her stomach flipping itself inside out. Stop it! She told herself again.

"I am glad you came out with us." He said, looking out ahead at the field in front of her.

"I am glad to be here." She replied.

She could see him shift in his saddle, clenching his jaw muscles, working the nerve up for something. She clucked to her horse to move forward and joined Tristan at the head of the group. She wasn't ready to talk to him yet. She could hear him sigh behind her. Damn... why was she certain one moment of what to do, then the next feeling awful for her actions? She licked her lips and fo­cused ahead of her again.

They made their way across the field to a low branched oak tree. Each dismounted and grabbed their bows and advanced into the brush on foot. The horses, trained not to go too far, began to graze under the tree, swishing their tails at flies that gathered once they stopped.

Gawain lead point into the bush, glancing up every so often to make sure the hawks were still in view. He stopped and held his fist up, and the rest of the party followed suit. He pointed left and they worked their way around some dense bushes into another clearing, stopping at the edge.

From here Cerys thought she saw movement in the tall grasses at the edge of the trees. She twit­tered and Tristan looked over. She pointed with outstretched fingers to the movement. He nod­ded and twittered to the other two, now off to their right. They heard Lancelot's distinctive whistle back, and knew they had heard.

And then they waited.

Cerys looked over Tristan's head to Lancelot. She could see him perched in the grass just out of the tree line, his bow notched in his left hand. Why was he using his left instead of his right today? He still had not unclenched his jaw and she noticed his right had a bandage on its fin­gers. She could see Gawain shift in his spot, his right leg out to prop him up as he too held his bow up, arrow notched and ready. She watched them a moment more, her focus taken off the movement ahead of them.

She turned her head back in time to see Tristan's arrow fly from the string of his bow and then she heard the thump as it hit its mark. She looked up to see a young buck rear up, arrow firmly lodged in its chest, its front hooves flailing, screaming and frothing pink at the mouth. She looked up and the hawks were still circling. This was not the quarry they had seen.

For a moment she watched the buck lurch forward, then land heavily in the grass, the screams slowly dieing, the grass going still. None of them moved. There could be others.

Cerys saw the next head pop up and begin to run. A doe! She loosed her own arrow and it hit just above the deer's shoulder, as she veered from her original path. The doe stumbled, but con­tinued running, shaking her head back and forth.

"Bloody hells." She whispered, notching another arrow. Tristan looked over at her noise.

She saw Gawain's arrow fly, and it hit its mark true. The deer somersaulted over into the grass and went still.

Tristan looked up, then over to her again and nodded, twittering once more. She heard the other two stand. They were a mated pair, there would be no others.

"Seems like a good outing to me." Gawain said cheerily as they reached the buck. Cerys laughed, giving him a push with her hand. She was sad she had not gotten the kill, but nonethe­less was happy with their catch.

"Lucky I slowed her down for you." She jested and reached down to pull Tristan's arrow from the carcass. He laughed and stuck his tongue out at her.

"Lucky for you I stopped her or we would not have two deer to bring home!" He jested back. They both laughed and Cerys handed Tristan's arrow to him as he joined them. He was smiling, and she reached over to pinch his arm, a saucy look crossing her face. He grabbed her hand as she did, and winked at her, then released her, bending over to examine the buck.

Cerys walked the short distance to the doe, leaving Tristan and Gawain to hoist the buck up and take it to a tree where they could bleed it out. She joined Lancelot, who had walked to the doe first. She stood by his side and they regarded the animal together. Lancelot crouched down slowly and grabbed Cerys' arrow, pulling it loose with a quick movement. He turned it slowly in his hand, not looking up.

Cerys... I..."

She looked at him, bending down a bit to look into his face. She could see pain on his face and she felt her stomach flip once more. Had she done this to him, in the baths? She immediately felt remorse, dropped to her knees and put her hand on his, holding her arrow.

"Please... tell me I..." she stopped. His eyes found her.

"I'm sorry." He said slowly, grabbing hold of her hand, his eyes pleading.

She didn't know what to say, they just stared at each other. She could feel herself heating at his gaze and admonished herself. Why were his eyes causing her such feelings?

"I didn't mean to hurt you." He mumbled quite suddenly, moving his eyes to the ground again.

She reached out a hand and touched his face. She felt suddenly that she needed to touch him, she needed to feel his warmth, and she was trembling. She felt her heart begin to race. These feelings were so strange to her, yet she couldn't stop.

Her hand caressed his cheek and he raised his eyes again, the look going from pain to confusion.

"It's alright. It's forgotten. Please... You mean more to me than..." She began, her eyes welling up. She shuffled forward on her knees, getting closer to him. He reached out then, grabbing her close and holding her. She could feel him shake too, as his arm encircled her.

"Please, please don't cry." He whispered in her ear, his voice wavering. She broke from his grasp and dashed at her eyes with her fingers. He abruptly stood and lifted her up to her feet. His courage seemed to return to him and he grabbed her shoulders.

"I should not have done what I did, and I hope that this has not changed what we have." He said, looking down to her as she sniffed. She looked up to him and blinked. Gods but he was a mys­tery to her! One moment, seeming so fragile, the next being the big, strong man... She shook her head and smiled through her tears.

"No, just remember that the next time you attempt to take advantage of this girl in the baths that she might not be so kind, and leave you with a bruise or two!"

Two could play this courage game, she thought to herself as he took her comment in surprise, then laughed. He pulled her to him again and rested his chin on her head. She could hear the rumble of his laughter in his chest as he held her close. She closed her eyes and sighed, the ten­sion between her shoulder blades from the morning leaving her.

"There's my Cerys," he said, holding her away from him again and looking down to her, "Now, shall we haul this doe up and get her bled before dark?"

Cerys nodded and they began their tasks. Her mind played back his last words... My Cerys... and she smiled.

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**Dear Reader:**

Seemingly all is well. But is it? I bid you be the judge, and comments are most appreciated. I thank you for your time reading with me.

Until next time, my salute to your dreams, may they have knights galloping home to you.

_Cardeia_


	10. HeartStopping Reaction

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the character names, save my own original creations. I do not wish to be compensated for this work, nor do I wish to infringe on any copyrights held by any stakeholders of the movie King Arthur. This work is an original creation, based on the legend of King Arthur and his Knights.

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**Scribe Note:**

_Winged Seraph:_ Many thanks again for your words of encouragement! This chapter will hopefully show that although it is resolved, sometimes reality can hit like a sack of stones to the middle.

_History2:_ No, they can't and neither can I. This chapter was very exhausting to write and I feel wrung out from it, from the sheer heaviness of the emotion I have with my characters. I hope you enjoy.

_Rowan Dash:_ I appreciate your feedback, and I can understand that college comes first. I am glad you are liking my portrayal of the knights.Our intendedshave indeed hung themselves out to dry, and they are not seeing the forest for the trees. However, in this chapter, the forest of confusion becomes all to clear to be a swamp of despair for one of the pair. I am worried I have left the emotion a bit thick, but it felt right as I wrote it.

_Ailis-70:_ I am heartened that you enjoy my description. I have been told many times at workshops to make more with less, and I tend to be flowery in my mind's eye description on paper. I want to have everyone see it as I see it. I need to remember to let my reader use their own imagination! Thank you for your review.

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**Chapter 10:** **_Heart-Stopping Reaction_**

Arthur was pacing around the hall, hands behind his back, head down, stepping between each of the seams in the stone floor, careful not to touch them with toe or heel. He paced once around, then turned, paced back. Lancelot watched him with his head propped on one hand, idly chew­ing on some stale dates. It was a hot day, and the hall felt stuffy already. He wished sometimes that Arthur would hold counsel in the common so they could at least have drink with their bad news.

"You think this is serious, or just a easy ride there and back?" He asked between bites.

Arthur looked up, the lines on his forehead clearly telling Lancelot that indeed he did think it was serious. He sighed and sat back against the edge of the table, rubbed at them, as if to make them disappear with the problem he was muddling over.

"How long before we leave?" Lancelot asked, sobering.

"Two, three days at the most."

"Not much time to prepare an army."

Arthur shook his head and grimaced. He began his pacing again.

Lancelot turned at footsteps near the door and sat up as the rest of the men trailed in to take seats around Arthur and the table. Then, following them was Cerys, a basket of leeks over her arm, dirt smudged on one cheek and stains on her skirts where her knees would have been in the soft dirt. She had obviously been called from the kitchen gardens, and had not expected this either. She was smiling and laughing, saying hello to the men in turn.

Why was she here? He looked for Guinevere but she was not among the gathered. He supposed she had heard about the counsel, and wanted to take part, knowing full well she would have just as much work to do if there were preparations to make.

She smiled and pinched his shoulder as she passed him and he grabbed at her hand and smiled back. He felt, for some reason, happy at her gaze, suddenly brighter for her presence. He watched her find a spot around the table. She looked up to him again as she sat and their eyes rested on one another for a moment. She smiled once more and turned her head to hear some­thing that one of the other men had said. He had seen little of her since their hunt, both of them busy with their own tasks.

Perceval wrapped an arm about her shoulders and whispered into her ear. She giggled at what he said and Perceval winked to Lancelot as he stole a leek form her basket. Gawain picked at his fingernails with a small knife and looked disinterested, Bors as well. Ganis, Jols, and a few other of the men at arms moved about, waiting to hear the reason Arthur had brought them in.

Tristan stood as well, arms crossed and leaned against a post. He leveled his gaze at Arthur and waited.

Arthur cleared his throat and everyone turned. Today he was their commander first, friend sec­ond. The men respected his authority in times like this. He had called them in on short notice, and as Lancelot had guessed, many of them could sense that their hiatus was over.

Arthur wasted no time.

"Men." He coughed once and swallowed, "There has been word that a lesser Saxon lord is working his way up the east coast through Linnius, and has just breached through Octus's troops in Deywr. They have been raiding Octus's supply wagons. Their supplies are running short, and the Saxons burn the fields and villages as they pass, giving no replacement to the food lost from their supplies."

Lancelot felt the room deflate and scanned the faces of the gathered men. In truth, he had de­flated as well. Despite his knowing, the announcement made it real, and he rubbed a hand over his cheek, waiting to hear the rest of it. He caught a quick glance to Cerys, who had detached herself from Perceval and was looking at tally sticks from her pocket and counting some notches on the blue one with her finger, her brow furrowed deeply. He had a notion to get up and go to her, and he attempted to push it out of his mind. He flicked his glance back to Arthur. There was no time for soft thoughts right now. He would talk to her later.

"Octus has sent word that he needs us to escort a train of supply wagons coming from Caer Gwidich in North-West Elmet so that it can pass through Dewyr and get to his men safely."

"We're to be escorts? Bloody babysitters for a lot of Roman civvies trying to beat off a horde?" Bors growled as he stood and began to pace, much in the same way Arthur had been pacing ear­lier.

Arthur sighed. Bors folded his arms and scowled. Bors always got bent out of shape at counsel.

"Yes. Octus has a hundred men he has sent to Caer Gwidich to prepare, all he can lend us while he fights. Caer Gwidich has minimal men, and they will be needed to defend the town."

"When do we leave?" a voice at the back piped up.

"How many men strong are we?"

"How many Saxon troops?"

"Do we take our own wagons?"

The questions began spilling out one on top of the other. Arthur raised his hands to silence them. He looked to Lancelot and nodded.

This was where being the second in command had its downside. Lancelot hated speaking at counsel, and he hated trying to organize the troops even more. He had no mind for numbers; he preferred to just be one of the men, and fighting well, or not fighting at all and living in peace. But, with this new station defending Britain from the Saxons, came new jobs to learn. Lancelot stood up, knuckles braced on the edge of the table, scanning the men with the most serious and hard look he could muster.

"We have three days." He said loudly, "And we are 320 strong, give or take. Yes, we take supply wagons and extra horses."

Nods and murmurs came from men in the crowd. Most knew exactly what their tasks would now be to prepare, and he had no need to call out assignments. He did anyways, more out of habit than anything else. One by one the men nodded as he called their name and gave them quick instructions.

Most were probably already making lists in their heads of what needed to be done, and Lancelot thought to himself as he finished assignments that this was more for ceremony, a waste of time, but necessary. Lancelot was used to Roman order, and even after a few years working with these new people, their ways still felt a bit unorganized sometimes. Lancelot would not admit it, but some of what the Roman army had in the way of tactics worked, and he had grown accustomed to it.

He looked to Cerys again quickly, who was now pale and had gathered up her basket to her lap, holding it for dear life. He frowned. She looked ready to faint, and he caught Perceval's eye and motioned with his head to her. Perceval looked over to Cerys, quickly putting his arm back around her. She turned her head to him and murmured thanks. She was still holding tally sticks, and Lancelot noted an undyed one, which meant she had been thinking about the fall, not far away, and the harvests.

He swore under his breath as he realized that they would not be back in time to help her. She was going to have a hard time bringing in everything before frost.

Arthur had cleared his throat again. "I realize that this is not much time. I understand that you will be working hard. We have to get these supplies to Octus or his men will starve. I know we can do this, and I put my faith in you that we can be ready in time."

The men were silenced for a moment. More nods, more serious faces. Lancelot suddenly thought on the many women and children who would be crying this night. Funny, he had not thought on that before. He realized that he did not have these things to worry about, and it made him sad in a strange way. He blinked and realized that his thoughts were wandering again when they shouldn't. Damn this head of his was not acting right these past few days!

He needed a drink and perhaps a girl to distract him. Nothing else seemed to be working. Hunt­ing, nor gambling, nor working in the armoury ring... He had even slept in his bed the night be­fore and it had not made one difference! At least now he wasn't at odds with Cerys. One less thing to berate himself about, he supposed.

"Alright, that's enough. We will convene here for status reports in two days time." Arthur said, and with that the crowd broke free of the hall and left. Only the knights stayed behind, with Cerys, still sitting meekly with Perceval's arm about her, clutching her sticks and her basket with knuckles white.

Tristan walked further into the room. He reached down and grabbed another leek from Cerys' basket, and she did not even look up. His gaze scanned over her hands and he raised his head to Arthur and a look passed between them. Lancelot watched Arthur flick his glance to her, then back to the men.

"Do we ride ahead?" Tristan asked

Arthur nodded. "We leave in two days, once we have status on the preparations. I want to get a jump on the men and see what lies in store for us."

The knights nodded, most not needing any further instruction. Jols could be counted on to get their horses ready, and their packs were easy enough to assemble. They spoke together for a few more moments, getting details into their heads, and a plan formulated. Bors let a grin escape to his face and he opened his arms wide, groaning to stretch them.

"Then we have one more night to drink! Tonight!" He rumbled, to laughter from the others. Tristan discarded the tails from the leek into the brazier cavern, sitting dormant. He left the hall in front of the others, no doubt to make ready, for he would ride out at early light in two days, his role understood perfectly.

Lancelot watched him go, wishing that he could trade places with the man sometimes. The hall emptied after him, save Arthur, Lancelot and Cerys, still on her cushion, a blank look on her face. Lancelot knew she was whittling in her head, despite her sticks in her hand. She never stopped working or worrying, that woman. He grimaced.

He walked quickly to Cerys, who was raising herself up to stand and leave as well. Her face was still unreadable.

"Come on, what's up?" He asked as he reached her, steadying her elbow so she could step away from the seat cushions.

"Nothing, I'm fine.. no... Damn!" She said as she dropped the basket in front of her, spilling vegetables across the floor. She put her hands to her face.

Arthur had come around the table as well and stooped to pick up the basket and gather its con­tents, his eyes showing worry at her.

"Cerys?" He asked as he handed it to her. She didn't take it from him. He set it down on the floor and bent his knees to look at her. "Cousin! Is something wrong?"

"It's alright. I'm just loathing having you all gone again. It's so close to fall, how will I get the harvests in with all the men gone? You'll be gone a month or more, and I... I..." She faltered, flinging her hands in the air.

Lancelot reacted.

He grabbed a hold of her, one hand going to her head, the other around her body. He pulled her close, shushing her, rocking back and forth, her head held against his chest. Arthur gave a surprised look to Lancelot, as Lancelot caught his gaze, returning as hard a glare as he could. Arthur backed away and stepped out of the hall on silent feet.

Cerys was crying outwardly now, her arms balled up in front of her, her head buried in his chest. He could feel the sobs wracking her body, her slight shoulders shaking with each breath in. He just stood, his heart in his throat, his mind a whirl. Her crying was making him feel so wretched, the same way he had felt when they were beside the doe in the field. He wanted nothing more than to make her stop, make her better.

He felt helpless and he was hating it.

"There, it's alright, shush sweeting." He said, his chin resting on top of her head, his hand unconsciously stroking her hair.

Sweeting? Where did that come from? He had just officially gone soft in the head.

A few more moments went by, and eventually she stilled. He continued smoothing her hair with his hand and looked down to her red face. She wiped at her eyes with the cuffs of her dress, sniffing, cheek still pressed to his tunic. It felt warm where she was resting. He wondered if she could hear how hard his heart was racing.

"I'm sorry Lancelot. I don't know what got into me... I... I should be more understanding. What do you need me to do for your departure?" She looked up to him now, her eyes drying, her com­posure coming back to her.

Lancelot regarded her for a moment more. She was such a mystery to him sometimes! One mo­ment she was sobbing for all she was worth, the next she was offering to help him pack! He knew her so well; he knew how much she hated their absences but... He shook his head.

He released her from his embrace and put an arm around her shoulders. "Everything is fine. Don't worry your head over us, we will be able to get packed and off without much fuss."

"Alright... Thank you." She said as she picked up her basket, wiping one last time at her eyes and taking a deep breath. She smiled at him then, a real smile, and took her leave, head down, steps quick. He assumed she was feeling a bit embarrassed at her outburst, and he let her go.

Lancelot felt befuddled completely. What had just happened here? He needed some time to think.

A knock at his door made him hit his head on the lid of the chest he was rifling through.

He had forgone early drinking to make sure his armour was in good repair, and had spent some time working kinks out of his chain mail shirt. He also had a hole to fix in his arming doublet from the last time an arrow had opened it up. He was searching for thread when the knock came.

"Damn... come..." He said as his hand went to his head and he squeezed his eyes shut at the burst of pain associated with hitting ones head on a hard object.

"My... dusty in here... You don't have guests often do you?" Cerys answered, stepping over the threshold into the rooms and waving a hand to move cobwebs out of the way. She looked around her at the dishevelled room and wrinkled her nose.

"All the time… Why just a few hours ago the King of Jerusalem was here." He said sarcastically, bowing and taking his hand from his head to examine it for blood. His hand showed the evi­dence that indeed it was and he groaned.

"Damn woman, you have feet like a cat." He added testily, for good measure.

Cerys tisked him softly and put down the flask of wine, cups and cheese cloth of food she was holding and went to him. She forced him to sit on the edge of the bed and stood over his head, hmming and poking at his new wound.

"I think we may have to amputate, this gash is bad." She said, as seriously as she could.

He swivelled to look to her.

"And how shall I think without my head on shoulder?" He quipped back.

She raised an eyebrow. "You would still have your brain, dear Lancelot."

"Oh?"

She quickly flitted her glance down to his lap, then continued looking at his scalp, giggling slightly.

"Not fair." He replied sulkily.

She chuckled once more and went looking to a table for his water basin. She found it full of wa­ter and turned to him. "What's this? Fresh water? My, you are domestic..."

Lancelot watched her pull some soft gauze from her pocket and dip it in the water. Did she al­ways carry that? Strange woman, he mused.

She came back over and began to dab at his bump. He hissed and shifted. That hurt.

"Are you alright? Earlier in the hall..." He said as he grabbed her hand. She stilled and looked down to him, their eyes meeting.

"I'm fine Lancelot. I was being a silly woman, and I apologize for my actions. We will be fine for harvest, I was only panicking." she smiled.

He could see she was trying desperately to keep the mood light, but her smile never reached her eyes. He knew she was avoiding thinking of their departure, steeling herself. He could see the sadness brewing behind them, and it made him start again. There was that feeling again! He knew he cared for her, she was as close to him as any, and since they were children he had cared for her... but... now...

There was something else there. Something more... He had thought in these past few days that loneliness was making him think of things that he should not be. But, he was not alone now... She was here... This was something else and it was scaring him half out of his mind.

Suddenly he knew.

He knew exactly what this feeling was. It was the exact thing he swore he would never let hap­pen, and here he was, unable to stop it! He suddenly felt very aware of her hands on his head, her breast close to his shoulder, her breath on his skin.

Damn, he could not love her. Not now. Not like this.

He sat and let her finish her bathing of his wound, closing his eyes and willing control to come back. Satisfied that he was going to live, she patted his arm and retrieved the food she had left on the floor when she entered.

"Now, you really should eat, I brought us some food to share. We have not had much chance to chat these past few days, and since I did not find you at the common, I tracked you here."

He tried to smile and took the cups from her hand as she reached the bed. She sat beside him and opened the cheesecloth between them. He poured wine into both their cups, trying desperately to hide his shaking hands.

He noticed suddenly that the moon was casting a glow on her shoulder through his window, and he could see a red line across its top. He reached over and touched it. Her skin felt soft against his hard calloused fingers.

"What is that from?" he said softly, running his fingers along it slowly.

She stiffened, looking away. Hell... he gulped.

"It's from my bow; it bit into me as we walked back from the clearing on our hunt. I should get a strap for it but I never remember when talking to the tanners." She reached a hand up to cover it with her dress collar.

He nodded. She looked back, her hand now coming out to touch his bandaged finger.

"And this?"

He looked down to his hand and shrugged. "A brush with a jammed fingernail."

He could see her face contort as she imagined the pain that one felt when jamming things un­derneath areas where things should not be jammed. She made an oohing noise, then softened her face and laughed, picking up her cup.

"Far from your brain, you will live?" She teased.

He pursed his lips and regarded her for a moment. This was more like it. He could handle some teasing. He picked a piece of cheese up from the cloth and bit into it. She giggled, her hand com­ing to mouth as she chewed a bite of bread.

They began chatting on nothing as they ate, their easy friendship again settling over them and he relaxed slightly. The distant sound of the common echoing off the walls came to his ears. Lance­lot realized that he was glad that he was not there. For once, he was seemingly happy to just be with her, eating quietly, sharing bits of news. Ignoring the fact that in two days time he would be gone again for a month or more.

He did not want to leave.

He looked over at her again as she picked out the pit from a plum and chattered away at him about work, the weather, nothing. Gods, when the moonlight hit her skin, it was like...like... snow. He blinked. He had never seen her look as beautiful as she did right then, and his stomach again flipped over and his heart felt like it was skipping beats. He ran fingers through his curls and licked his lips.

She moved their supper to one side and slid over beside him. She handed half the plum to him and he took it from her.

He switched to staring at the floor and silently wished that on this night, that he was not who he was, and that they could meet as strangers, forget all the things that had happened. The fighting, the blood, the death...

He desperately wanted to be someone she would want, not... not this man that he was, the things he had done... no one should burden themselves with that, and he would not let her.

He bit into the plum. Damned stupid nonsense, this fantasy... and he couldn't stop himself. A waft of her scent came to him as she flipped her hair behind her shoulder. Mint... and cedar boughs... He closed his eyes and took a breath to steady himself. He had gone too far now... it was too late to forget this feeling.

She looked up to his face, a hand coming up to his arm, her face questioning. He smiled to her, shook his head and put an arm around her shoulders. She leaned into him, her head on his shoul­der now, and he sat, holding her against him, in silent torment, his heart slowly breaking.

* * *

**Dear Reader:**

How many times have we, in a moment, realized an emotion, heard thebell in our minds, that what was confusion is now clear? Think now on when you first realized you loved someone. What was it like? Remember the heart racing, the nervousness, the anticipation, or the dread... what did you do?

My wish for you on this evening is that you emotions may come to you loudly, and let you live fully.

_Cardeia_


	11. Dawning Confession

**Disclaimer: **I do not own any of the character names, save my own original creations. I do not wish to be compensated for this work, nor do I wish to infringe on any copyrights held by any stakeholders of the movie King Arthur. This work is an original creation, based on the legend of King Arthur and his knights.

* * *

**_Scribe Note:_**

_ElvenStar5:_ Thank you. Your encouragement keeps me motivated.

_Winged Seraph_: I blush at your praise. Such as we never see an ugly duckling until it is a swan, I did not see this chapter as one of my best, until your feedback. Thank you.

_Rowan Dash:_ I am glad you liked my twist! I want to show Lancelot's complicated mind, yet give him the stubborness inherent in a man who only has himself to rely on. I am glad you have seen him the way I do, in my mind's eye. You have helped me to hold my muse with your reviews. Thank you.

_DrewsGirl:_ You are welcome. Only by opening ourselves to our emotions can we truly communicate our thoughts. I apologize for missing your previous review, and thank you for reading along with my piece. I appreciate your encouragement!

_History2:_ Anxiety is not an easy emotion to sum up with written word and I am glad you see it. Thank you for your review and your kind words.

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**Chapter 11** : **_Dawning Confession_**

The ring of hammer on anvil woke Cerys with a start. She rubbed her eyes and blinked. So early for Hywel to be up and working! She could hear the whoosh of the bellows as his assistant turned up the fire. Then Cerys remembered, frowning.

Ah yes, they men were leaving in two days.

She swung her feet over the edge of the bed and squinted fuzzily out the window across her rooms, noticing that dawn had not yet crept up over the horizon. She sighed, rose and donned a day dress and light cloak, gathered her tallies, some lambskins with field maps, and headed for the battlements. It was a quiet-enough morning she could perhaps get some work done while she watched the morning greet her. It was small pleasure in the face of the logistical nightmare she now faced.

She would be left with only sixty older men and a handful of the boys not yet fighting age. The women of course would do their part, but it would be a hard slog without the percuarii and lim­itanei to help. Frost would come before they got most of the harvest in, she was sure of that. In her head as she walked, she ran through the crops that could not freeze. They would come in first of course, the millet she could leave a little longer perhaps.

She laughed softly to herself as she realized she had referred to the herdsmen and guards by their Roman titles. Old habits! The Romans were gone, the native people taking over most of the forts and farmlands, but still she thought of this place as Roman. True, many of the Roman settlers had stayed and kept the lifestyle, but it wasn't the same. She chided herself. She must remember to think more like a native Briton, and not like the Roman she was raised as. She was thankful, in a way, that this smaller fort had transferred over to a more Briton way of life than had Vindolanda, which was still run by an older Roman general who had also lent himself to the Saxon defence. The life there was very regimented, and some of the blue-skinned Picts and Northern Celts gathered there chafed under his ideas at times. Here, there was a happy accept­ance of the new order, which meant a much nicer place in which to live day-to-day.

Cerys climbed the stairs next to the wall slowly, the steps still wet with the night's humid con­densation. She could hear the blacksmith in the distance, and could see the men in the stores moving barrels and sacks about, breath as they spoke rising quietly in the early morning air. She thought on how they would be working non-stop from now until they left. So much was needed to feed and arm 350 men for a month! Nothing would be wasted. She made note that she needed to speak with Ganis later about wheel grease. She needed a few drops for the cooking spits, and would want to get that before he began working on the wagons.

Cerys sat for a moment, once settled, with her chin in her hands and back to the wall, watching the horizon. Her thoughts immediately turned to her knights. Last night had been such a nice night, a quiet dinner with Lancelot and then happy banter in the common with the rest of the men. Bors and Lorina's newest baby had passed from man to man, all cooing like doe-eyed fools, while small fingers reached out to grab long braids and beards. How strong warriors turned to mush when presented with a small bundle of joy! Lorina and she had laughed at that, teasing them mercilessly. Even Lancelot had spent time with the baby, which was unusual for him. She had watched him play with the baby, rested against his chest, letting the child grab at his fingers and drool on his tunic. Cerys had felt odd watching him with the child, and strangely drawn at the same time. He had looked... right, with that baby in his arms.

Cerys yawned and glanced to her lambskins. Six fields of flax, not enough to put some away for cooking. All would have to be spun for linen. She began notching one for each field in the flax tally. She would have to ride out and check on the readiness for each field to be brought in soon.

Cerys' thoughts unconsciously turned back to Lancelot. Lancelot... What had happened with him? She noticed last night that he was acting a bit strangely, assuming his thoughts were to preparations, his own gear to pack. He had seemed nervous about something. She scratched an insect bite on her arm absently, and felt her shoulders warm from the memory of his arm around her, their calm companionship. It had been comforting having him with her last night. It felt nice to just sit and talk, share food, laugh. She knew these strange feelings she had around him were making her a bit self-conscious, and she had tried to ignore them, without much success. She had pushed them out of her head so many times she had lost count. Thank goodness that business of their kiss in the baths was resolved! She would hate for anything to come between them after so long together in friendship, especially something as silly as misinterpreted instincts on his part.

She needed some time off, perchance she was getting a bit tired and it was making her more vulnerable for company, feeling lonely.

Once winter came she could take some time inside, perhaps she would ask Arthur for one of his Latin books and she could get him to teach her more reading. She could read some Latin, but it was rough. She could do to learn more, and be able to write lists instead of making notches on countless sticks of wood.

A footstep on the stairs made her look up and Tristan's eyes met hers as he ascended. He made his way over to her and sat down, a handful of nuts and some cheese in his hand. He chewed slowly, handing her an almond. How had he gotten almonds? She wondered as she sucked slow­ly on it, moving it around in her cheek to savour the sweetness. The kitchen girls could never say no to the knights, they were all complete flirts.

He was shuffling through her maps, glancing at them, his eyes roving the names. He couldn't read, but he scanned the words anyways, and she smiled. This winter perhaps she could teach him reading as she learned more herself. Tristan would enjoy reading; such a quiet pastime would please him.

"Linum." She said, pointing to one of the larger flax fields. He nodded. He pursed his lips and fur­rowed his brow. He pointed to another word.

"Tr…Tri..." He said softly, "Tri-t-i-cum."

She smiled and nodded. He looked up to her again and he too smiled slightly. He put the maps down and looked out to the horizon again, hands clasped in front of him now. She could sense he wanted to talk this morning, which was rare.

"Hywel woke you as well?"

He nodded. She patted his arm and picked up another tally, to begin making notches for the wheat fields he had just identified. She would need ten notches for each of those fields. Her tongue protruded out of corner of her mouth as she worked, and waited for him to get whatever it was he wanted to talk about out of his head and onto his lips. She had time.

"You were... upset yesterday." He said, twisting his fingers together.

She stopped her knife and nodded. She had not realized that he had noticed her mood yesterday during counsel.

"I don't want the men to leave. It leaves me with no one to bring in harvest except old men and boys. It was a momentary panic."

He nodded, turning his head to look at her. "There's more."

She sighed. Tristan could see through her so easily, she should know better by now.

"I am not looking forward to having you and the men gone again. You have just returned home. I miss you when you go. I feel... vulnerable."

His gaze was calm and level with her, his eyes this morning a cloudy grey-blue. "And Lance­lot?"

She looked quizzically at him. "Of course! I will miss him as well... All of you..."

"You were upset with him when we hunted. You have resolved it?"

She nodded. Nothing slipped past this man, did it?

"Yes."

They sat a few more moments in silence. The sun was peeking up, turning grey to colour. A group of sparrows flitted along, shadows in front of the sky. Tristan watched them fly, turning left and right in unison, their singing quick and sharp. Cerys closed her eyes a moment and lis­tened. Such peace she could find in this place, amid the chaos of her duties. She treasured quiet moments, when she could fit them in.

"Rain's coming." He said quietly.

When she opened her eyes again he was gone, quietly slipping away. She smiled fondly. She would have to make sure she packed some nuts into his saddle bags before he rode out tomorrow morning. If nothing else, Isaac would be happy for the treat.

* * *

**_Dear Reader:_**

Tristan sees more than he lets on, and Cerys knows this. Their bond allows him to see her, and her to understand him. She cannot hide from him! Sometimes words are not needed to give comfort and understanding, and they have mastered that communication skill.

Thank you for reading along with me, as I endeavour to bring the knights and their relationships to life. I bid your sunrises are as open as Cerys with Tristan.

_Cardeia_


	12. Riding Emotions

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the character names, save my own original creations. I do not wish to be compensated for this work, nor do I wish to infringe on any copyrights held by any stakeholders of the movie King Arthur. This work is an original creation, based on the legend of King Arthur and his knights.

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**Chapter 12: ****_Riding Emotions_**

The stables were a flurry of activity as Lancelot entered, carrying his packs, Brinn trailing be­hind with armour. Jingling tack, snorting horses, the sound of blades being sheathed and armour clanking as it was placed onto the packhorse racks made him smile. The men laughing and jest­ing, a spring in their steps, made him realize how restless knights could be when not out and on horse. Truly they were nomads at heart.

The rest of the knights were saddling up, checking straps and preparing to leave. They had fin­ished a status meeting with the men at arms just over an hour ago, and Arthur had immediately given the call to mount up. Arthur had already mounted of course, his horse Meritus saddled and waiting while they were in the hall.

Lancelot, as usual, was most obviously the last to arrive.

Lancelot looked to Brinn, and Brinn set about tacking Klyndd ready to leave. Demetia was al­ready out and saddled, Gawain plaiting up a piece of mane, one of his many good luck charms fastened halfway down.

"What's that? Another favour from a girl?" Galahad said as he walked past, jingling his horse's bit in his hand, fixing the lip strap.

Gawain threw him a dirty look and continued with his task. Lancelot chuckled. Gawain and his charms. Lancelot walked up beside him and peered at the horse's mane. A few plaits with var­ious little things, knucklebones, a feather, a fairy bolt, all hung along the grey's dappled neck.

This one was different. He had never seen it before.

"It's a green scale... from armour?"

Gawain nodded and finished the plait, tugging it once to make sure the scale would not fall out of the braid as they rode.

Lancelot understood then what that charm was. Their eyes met quickly and he nodded, rested his hand on his friend's shoulder. They stood a moment longer and then Gawain clicked softly to Demetia and they moved towards the door, ready to mount up. He felt his friend's suffering, and it sobered him.

"Hey Lancelot, get your pretty arse moving, are you going to make us wait to see it up on that nag you call a horse?" Bors yelled as he backed Raven out of his stall, full tack already on, Bors dressed ready to ride.

"Why do you need to see it so badly? Should I just come over now and bare it for you to kiss?" Lancelot retorted, grabbing a flank-strap from Brinn and hoisting it over Klyndd's back, taking over where Brinn was too short to reach.

Not now Bors, he thought to himself, I'm really not in the mood for your barbs.

The men burst into laughter as Bors led Raven out the door. Lancelot lifted the saddle into place and moved to the benches to suit up, allowing the young squire to finish his tasks.

Lancelot strapped his greaves and shoulder-plates in place. It had been a cool morning, so he was sure he would need his cloak by days end, and it too got fastened in place, tied with sinew laces to his riding armour. Last, he had Perceval help to buckle his Gladius scabbards across his back, and rammed the blades home himself. Gods, that felt good to have them there, familiar across his back.

He flexed his shoulders back and tested the strapping, his chain mail jingling with the move­ment. .Good... the cloak was not pulling at the buckles and he would be able to move. The leath­ers creaked as they rubbed against his light armour, and he was glad for the sound. He needed to get back to some normal sounds, some activity. He needed it sorely to clear his head and get out of this up and down mood. For the past two days he had felt like he was in a fog.

She was in his mind every moment. He would wake up with her in his head, picturing her laugh­ing, hair blowing about her face, or flush from a wine or dance. She would be in his mind at night as he attempted to sleep, softly looking to him with her eyes, her voice playing through his dreams. If they met during the day, it was as if the sounds around him stopped, and she alone made up the world around him. He had tried so hard to push the thought of being in love with her out of his head, but it was not working. He had hoped she did not notice his strange behav­iour and he had doubled his efforts to hide it when they were together. He would not let it get that far, he couldn't.

Klyndd was waiting for him in the hitching area as he finished. Once his packs were strapped behind the saddle, he took the reins from Brinn and led the horse out into the sunlight of the stable yard.

Arthur and Meritus were pacing around the small enclosure. The rest of the men were either mounted or in the process of swinging up. Lancelot looked to Brinn to hold Klyndd and he too swung into his tack, settling his armour about his thighs. Ahh... There was no better feeling than being in his saddle. It was like coming home. He pushed his thoughts of Cerys away and relished the feeling of having a horse under him for a moment.

"Thank you Brinn." He said and looked down to the boy. He could see that Brinn was starting to fill out a bit. It would soon be time to give the boy a wooden sword and begin some training with him. For now, he was too young to go out, and would stay and help with the stable chores. He would have to talk to Arthur about that on their return. He clicked softly and moved the horse out to stand near Perceval, who had just swung up onto his big black horse, Apollo.

Arthur stopped his horse as Guinevere ran madly into the stable yard, her hands stretched up to meet him, calling his name. He leaning down as far as he could so that she could touch his face. Lancelot watched as her eyes brimmed with tears, whispering to him. Arthur covered her hand with his, his eyes showing, for a brief moment, the pain he was feeling at leaving her so soon after returning. Meritus, sensing the need to be quiet for once, stood rock steady, locked in their goodbyes.

Lancelot felt his throat constrict and his chest tighten, and realized that he was feeling the same pain, but he had no one for which to share it. Funny how one could be saddened about not shar­ing something as upsetting as this. He watched the pair or a few moments longer and then looked to the front of his saddle and fiddled with a strap. Gods, he was going mad.

"Cheer up, we won't be gone long, we'll be home before winter." Galahad said quietly as he pulled up to the other side of Lancelot with Terryn, his fancy grey. Perceval nodded.

"This will be an easy ride there and back. It's close to winter, and the hordes will be setting in to ride out the cold, I am sure."

Lancelot half listened to them talk quietly as they waited for the call to ride out. His thoughts were to Cerys again, and he half-wished he could see her before he left. He wanted so much to just bury his head into her hair and tell her everything, tell her his feelings, but at the same time that was what he most definitely would not allow himself to do. He felt like he was being torn in two.

Lancelot got a poke to his arm from Perceval and looked over to the knight. Perceval nodded forward with his head and there in the entryway was Cerys. Lancelot swallowed. Damn... She was the one person he wanted to see, and the last person he wanted to see, all in one. She looked about, waving and greeting the other men. She saw Lancelot, waved at him and called his name.

"I think she's looking for you." Galahad said, trying to suppress a grin. Lancelot grunted to Gala­had, clicked to Klyndd and moved him forward to meet her.

"He thinks we don't see, doesn't he?" Galahad said to Perceval as Lancelot walked his horse forward, to a grin from Perceval and a nod from Bors, who had joined the line up.

"I don't think he is seeing it completely yet." Perceval replied quietly.

Lancelot never heard them, his focus on Cerys. Her hair was blowing about in the soft breeze inside the compound, her skirts blowing up to show dusty feet in sandals. She wore a day cloak, its clasp bridging across her chest above her breasts, the silver glinting slightly in the afternoon sun, her eyes sparkling in much the same way, her smile wrinkling them. He wished that he could tell her how beautiful she looked right then.

She looked up as he approached and smiled, resting a hand on his knee when he stopped. He wanted to get back down off his horse and hold her tightly.

"I've brought you... umm... Some supplies that you might need." She said, handing him up a roll of linen, tied shut. She looked into his face and a worried expression crossed her eyes. Damn... he didn't want her to worry. He wanted to... Augh! This waiting was madness, where was the call to ride? He thought impatiently.

"Thank you, what is it?" He asked, taking it from her, trying not to let his hand shake. He couldn't unroll it right then, but he desperately wanted to know its contents.

She smiled and wiggled a finger. "It's a surprise. Wait until nightfall and then you can open it."

He smiled at that, and then sobered. "Cerys..." He began.

She shook her head "I will be fine. Ride hard and bring everyone home to us."

He could see tears wanting to form behind her eyes, her lips trembling ever so softly. This was torture, truly, and he was going to go mad from it. He reached down and put a hand on hers, still on his knee.

"I will."

She hesitated, wanting to say something more. He leaned down closer to her. She took a breath, and he felt her other hand come to his cheek, her fingers soft against his beard. She looked into his eyes, blinked. His gaze was locked to hers, their eyes frozen to each other. The world stood still, and he took breath to console her, to tell her anything to bring her smile back.

Just then Arthur gave the call, and she removed her hand, her eyes now to the ground. He gath­ered up rein, stuffed her gift into his cuirass and clucked to Klyndd. It was time to stop thinking about ri­diculous fantasies and focus on his job. If he didn't, he would come home under a cloak, and right at this moment, it was the last thing he wanted.

He looked once more to her, setting as hard a face as possible.

"I will see you soon."

She nodded and stepped back as the men filed past her on the horses. She smiled and brushed each knight's leg with her hand as they passed, telling them to ride well and be home soon. Arthur was last, and he stopped quickly to reach down and clasp her hand, then moved on.

Lancelot looked back once as they funnelled through the main alley to take them to the inner compound doors, and saw Guinevere and Cerys arm in arm, Guinevere sobbing and Cerys wav­ing, their heads leaned to each other.

He turned once more to look forward. It was going to be a long month.

* * *

**Dear Reader:**

I must admit to you that my tears fell hard while I wrote this chapter. I have always hated goodbyes, and writing about them wrenches my heart. I hope I have conveyed the tearing that Lancelot feels between his head and his heart, as well as his need for some normalcy, to help him see things clearly and forget the nonsense. We know that it won't right his upset world, but it is the most logical thing to him, and he will stubbornly forge ahead.

Cerys is denying that there is more than deep friendship, and I am wrestling with how to help her see love. My request for your ideas or comments would be most helpful. Do you know her well enough to predict her epiphany? Have I given her enough depth?

Thank you to those who have reviewed, you have been my encouragement, made me smile and blush, as well as keep me motivated to stay on top of this wave of muse I have been riding.

_Cardeia_


	13. A Pace Ahead

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the character names, save my own original creations. I do not wish to be compensated for this work, nor do I wish to infringe on any copyrights held by any stakeholders of the movie King Arthur. This work is an original creation, based on the legend of King Arthur and his knights.

* * *

_**Scribe Notes:**_

_Ailis-70:_ I am glad that you feel the emotion through this pair! Success!I am hoping that I can set it to the back for a bit to allow both Cerys and Lancelot to focus on work and the trials therein.

_ElvenStar5:_ Your continued enthusiasm keeps my pen moving! Here are your updates, three chapters in a row (starting here).

_Bloodredcherry:_ Yes it is centered around Lancelot and my Cerys. I am a fan of Ioan Gruffudd, and it was too tempting to not try and give his character in King Arthur a whirl. I do hope that I have given him both characteristics of Lancelot, and that of Ioan's portrayal. Such a depth of emotion can he give with the shrug of his shoulders or a look. I am glad you are enjoying!

_History2:_ Ahh yes, the confusion of wanting to see someone but dreading the meeting at the same time. How many times I remembered watching a young crush from afar, only to dart into a washroom or aisle at school as he walked by, too nervous to say anything. Love gives us desire, but only when we swallow our fear of rejection can we be brave! Lancelot truly fears rejection, because he does not like who he is. Thank you for your continued reviews!

_Babaksmiles:_ I am so glad that everyone is enjoying my writing, and I was pleased and suprised that it had been recommended elsewhere! I am heartened that you are enjoying the piece. Thank you for your kind words, I try to keep a cadence that is akin some sort of rhythmn, sometimes it is successful, sometimes not so. Experimenting with writing syles and ideas is key to rounding out the writer.

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**Chapter 13:** **_A Pace Ahead_**

The rain pounded down on the roof, and Cerys paced around the hall. This was going to flatten the millet crop, and they would have to get it up and in before it mouldered in the field, and dry it in bundles from the roof of every available building. If only this infernal rain would stop!

She glared up at the roof, and a drop of water fell through from a gap and hit her square in the eye.

She blinked, swore and pounded her hands against the edge of the table in frustration, then let out a bleat of pain. Blisters on her hands opened, and oozed thick fluid down her palm. She was so tired, so frustrated, so worried... When would it end? She stubbornly refused to cry, and steeled herself, hissing at the pain of her blisters, now bleeding dark red. She squeezed her palms shut to stop the bleeding and held them up to her chest.

Guinevere watched her from the other side of the hall, one of Lorina's children in her lap, rock­ing softly. She stood and padded to Cerys quietly, trying not to wake the now sleeping child.

"Cerys... You need to sleep. This pacing won't help."

Cerys turned her eyes to Guinevere. Dark circles shone out from pale skin, cheeks hollow, lips chapped. She looked to the table where her tallies and maps were scattered and sighed.

"I can't. If the rain stops tonight we have to get out to the millet. I have to figure out how many buildings we are going to need to dry it."

Guinevere shook her head and shifted the sleeping child to her hip. She grabbed Cerys' arm with her now free hand and shook it hard.

"I will drag you to your rooms if you do not go and at least lie down! You look... sick." She finished her sentence haltingly, her eyes growing concerned.

Cerys tried very hard to be mad at her friend's insistence, but in truth she was too tired and too busy to be mad.

It had been a very hard harvest, the rain halting them each time they wanted to make progress. They were able to get the flax in, and the hay was good. Straw might be a problem, as well as the grains. Her mind had been constantly on the work to be done, and in the past week she had been forced to put all men and able-bodied women on shifts to keep their health up. She had been supervising both, with the result of little sleep. She sacrificed her rations of water for the most senior of the men, and allowed the younger boys to take her portion of bread and cheese.

They needed it to grow, not her. She had to stay on top of all the hands she had working; she needed to make sure they rested and ate.

She had not touched wine since the start of the harvest, nor had she taken any fruit or cheese with her when she worked. Truthfully, she forgot to eat most days, working alongside the crews, pulling and scything until her shoulders ached, riding between fields to check on progress, driv­ing wagons into the fort herself when others were busy. She had walked in the winrows with torches at night so that her people could work by moonlight, and she had spent countless hours in the gardens pulling in cabbage, carrots and herbs with the kitchen staff.

Thank the Gods that the people around her were as wonderful to work with as they were, or she would be lost. To a person, they had worked so hard, knowing full well that they needed to, or risk starving this winter. Countless times they had told her to sit and they would take care of something, foisting food or water on her, giving her a smile, a nod to say all was well.

Guinevere glanced down to Cerys' hands and gasped. They looked terrible, blisters criss-cross­ing palms, rough, raw, fingernails broken and ragged, blood and pus oozing and drying in a cracked and ugly mess.

Guinevere picked up Cerys' hand by the wrist and turned it over to face the palm to her tired friend.

"Cerys! What in the name of all the Gods have you done to your hands?"

Cerys blinked out of her thoughts once more, uncomprehending, then shrugged. "They are just blistered. I wrap them in cloth when I work. We are all blistered from working."

Guinevere grabbed Cerys' arm once more and pulled her away from the hall table towards the door. They dodged out into the rain, the child waking in Guinevere's arms and complaining loudly. Guinevere continued dragging until they were underneath the portico by Dafydd's of­fices. Guinevere kicked Dafydd's door with her foot.

"Guinevere, I don't need to see Dafydd, I am fine!" Cerys protested as she tried to twist out of her friends grasp. "Please! I need to get back to work!"

Her pleas bent on deaf ears. Guinevere shifted the child on her hip, a stern look on her face. She kicked the door again, just as Dafydd opened them.

"Child you should not be out in the..." Dafydd started, but then stopped as he saw what Guine­vere had grasped in her outstretched hand. Cerys sniffed, water dripping from her hair onto her face. Damn, this was all she needed, Dafydd preaching to her about her eating and sleeping hab­its. She had no time for this, she was needed elsewhere.

"Cerys," He admonished, grabbing hold of her arm above where Guinevere held it, pulling her towards him. "You are sick. Why did you not come to me?"

"I am not sick, I am tired. If you have not noticed Dafydd, we are harvesting, and it has not stopped raining for three days." She spat, wrenching her arm from his grasp.

Guinevere raised her eyebrows. She hefted the child in her grasp again, it's complaining­stopped, wide eyes focused on Cerys.

"I am going to find Lorina, please don't let her get away before I get back." She said to Dafydd and walked quickly down the portico to Lorina and Bors' apartments. As she turned the corner, Cerys sagged into the wall.

"Damn." She muttered.

Dafydd put his arm around her shoulders and shepherded her into his rooms. He pulled up a stool to his hearth and she sat. She sniffed again and wiped her nose with the back of her hand, winc­ing at the pain when she touched raw skin. Despite the fact that she was bullied into this, she was enjoying a chance to sit for a moment, her feet agreeing with silent painful screams.

"I'm sorry Dafydd. I shouldn't snap. Please forgive me."

Dafydd turned from the shelves he was pulling clay pots off of and smiled his toothy grin. Cerys thought that he was a handsome man in his day, his features giving such warmth even now that crags and wrinkles dominated it. She smiled back. He was a good man, she should be more un­derstanding.

"Never mind child. You have been working very hard. Hywel says you brought him a cartload of wood last night well past dinner hour, knocking on his door! Truly, you should rest some­times?" He jested to her, returning to a small table, his mortar and pestle working away in his bony, withered hands with the contents of the pots he had emptied into it.

Cerys watched his hands and looked down to her own. She truly was possessed. Her hands were a mess! When was the last time she had eaten? Her stomach growled, telling her that it had been far too long. She blinked slowly. She perhaps should get up and go check on the mows... Did Nimli need help preserving the beans? Her thoughts jumbled in her head, her thoughts darting here and there.

She felt muscles start to shake and she realized that she couldn't stop them. She pressed her lips together, held herself up rigid but she couldn't still. She concentrated back to Dafydd's hands, willing herself to control.

Thoughts jumbled in her head more. How many cows were in the byre... ten? Would that be enough... The rain might stop; the men might come home any moment... Men... her towels would need cleaning... her knights... Oh Gods... Where was Lancelot? She could hear roaring water in her ears... they weren't near a waterfall... Why did everything look so fuzzy?

She clasped her cracked and dried hands to her knees, now bouncing from the effort to stay still. Stop it! She thought... stop being so helpless!

"Dafydd?" She said faintly as she began to slide towards the ground. "Why is the room mov­ing?"

He turned and stepped to her as Guinevere came back through the doors, but not in time to catch her before she fell to the floor in a heap. Guinevere ran to her side and they hefted her up like a rag doll, carrying her to a bed in the corner of the room. Her eyes fluttered as they laid her on her back, but she stayed unconscious, falling into sleep that her body could not hold off any long­er.

"She hasn't been eating." Guinevere said quietly, smoothing out her hair. "Lorina told me she's been giving her bread and cheese ration to the children working the fields."

Dafydd nodded and returned to his table, to finish his task. The scrape of pestle echoed in the room for a few moments as Guinevere sat quietly with Cerys, smoothing her hair, loosening her skirt-belt.

"She hasn't been sleeping either." He added suddenly. Guinevere grimaced and turned to find Dafydd with a cold cloth and water basin ready for her in his outstretched arms. Guinevere sat and bathed her face and neck, cooling her skin which had now flushed and was hot, cleaning the pus and blood from her hands. Once clean, Giunevere held Cerys' hands up, and Dafydd began to plaster them with his herbal concoction. Blisters popped open as Dafydd gently spread the goo, leaking and oozing, some with deep fissures. There was not one spot on her left hand that was left untouched.

"Some of this damage is permanent; she may never be able to move some of these fingers again." Dafydd whispered, his voice thick, an obvious restraint of emotion showing on his face.

They glanced to each other with worried faces, and then bent over their friend to finish their task.

* * *

**Dear Reader:**

I had a friend who, upon losing his father to Cancer, threw himself to his job, forsakingthe rest of his life. I remembered feeling so helpless, watching him deal with his grief by hurting himself. This was my basis for this chapter.

I wanted to give Cerys a sense that if she works hard, (albeit needed with a horrible harvest season), she will not lose her thoughts to Lancelot, not be out of control, not be helpless. Her weakness is that she does not let herself go, does not let herself feel. Her work is her shield.

I carry my own shields from time to time, and after this chapter, I spent the day opening myself to my emotions, and resolved some of my own feelings of helplessness. It is good therapy to write, and my wish for you, reader, is that your own writing helps you to see yourself in a new way as well.

_Cardeia_


	14. Bogged Down

**Disclaimer: **I do not own any of the character names, save my own original creations. I do not wish to be compensated for this work, nor do I wish to infringe on any copyrights held by any stakeholders of the movie King Arthur. This work is an original creation, based on the legend of King Arthur and his knights.

* * *

**Chapter 14:** **_Bogged Down_**

The knights reached Caer Gwidich a full ten days after they left home, riding up on the gates to the town as drowned rats, a bleak looking cohort of men, with wagons straggled half a day be­hind them. They had met no resistance, which relieved everyone greatly, but made the long hours of tense waiting in the saddle all the much harder. Lancelot had found himself wishing for a bit of action, as riding endlessly in rain with one eye behind and one ahead was not really giv­ing him respite from his own thoughts.

The men bickered, their sodden tempers giving way to petty disagreements and arguments. Only Tristan seemed unaffected, but spent most of his time riding ahead, alone.

The Caer was a grey place, set on a hill overlooking a dark, mucky bog that surrounded on al­most four sides, save a causeway of rough stone, flattened to a bumpy road. The road through the outlying town within the walls was steep up, and the battlements of the inner compound around the keep were quite far up. It was a good drop if one jumped off the walls and into the mucky soup below, but felt but a stones throw from the outer wall, where large iron and wood doors barred entrance. The steepness of the hill surrounding the Caer made for excellent range from within the inner compound to defend the outer walls. A dream for defense, a nightmare to attack.

There weren't many trees, nor were there many young women or children. Endless dirty faces of men at arms, scruffy wet dogs, thin townsfolk with gaunt eyes and hanging clothes greeted them in the doorways of homes, in the town square. Old women would lift their skirts to the knights when they passed, looking for any sort of handout to be able to eat, leering at them, sometimes pawing at their legs. The mud was everywhere, the wagons, once arrived, sticking in some of the side streets as they made their way up towards the inner compound of the fort. Everyone was wet, tired, muddy, and hungry. Lancelot felt numb. Why did these people suffer? It made him wish for the fort... home, a warm fire, all the more. He longed to be home and lieing on a cushion in the hall with... with... her. He missed Cerys, and the rain was making it no easier. He hoped that there was less rain where she was and pulling in the crops with ease.

"Gods this place is desolate." Galahad muttered soberly as they finally dismounted, safely in­side the inner compound doors, in front of the stables. He kicked at a sodden lump of horse ma­nure, frowning. "It's old. There haven't been horses here for some time."

Bors nodded and hooked Raven's reins over his shoulder. He squinted and peered into the door­way of the stable. "Looks like we are the only ones then!" He said as he ventured forward. His stiff gait in through the door with one hand on his back indicated that he was as saddle sore as any of them, and eager to rest.

The rest of the packhorses and wagons arrived slowly, and everyone set to the task of untacking and bedding the horses for the night. Arthur went off in search of Praetus, whom he was told was the commander in charge of the troops stationed there, his red cape slowly turning grey at the hem from the mud and wet splashed up behind him. It must weigh a ton! Lancelot thought, and was glad for his shorter cape that did not reach the ground and pull at his shoulder plates like dead weight.

Lancelot watched Jols lead Meritus inside the stable, the man limping, a dark stain on the insides of both his calf muscles. He had ridden one of the packhorses for the past day, his own horse crashing into the mud with a broken leg. The racks had dug into his already beaten muscles and he was now blessed with red open sores. Lancelot led Klyndd in behind him, feeling Jols' pain with every step.

They had ridden too much in wet, and it would be a long night drying out and treating raw blis­ters, skin rashes, peeling off layers of cloth over bloody broken skin. Lancelot hated riding in the rain. He hated rain period.

Once Klyndd was untacked and his own cloak thrown over the horse's quarters to warm him, he pulled his dagger off his hip to pick the dirt out of his greaves and unbuckle them. He looked at it and realized that it was rusting. Damn infernal wetness! He sneezed and wiped his nose with the back of his hand.

"Gah!" He spat, to no one in particular.

A grunt from Perceval, who was having trouble undoing a leather belt turned his head. The wa­ter had swollen in shut, and the knot he had placed in it was now permanent. Water squelched out of it as he tugged and pressed, his dark hair hanging in his eyes and dripping onto the floor.

"Damn, how the hell am I going to piss if I can't get my trews open?" He swore impatiently, tugging at the belt, to no avail.

Lancelot handed him his rusty dagger without a word and turned back to his own sodden ar­mour. A long night indeed.

The next few days were no better. They ate little, took watch on the battlements and tried to find a dry way to pass the time. There were no women and no ale barrels to amuse the men, and tem­pers were short.

They had learned, from Praetus that half the men dispatched from Octuses troops had deserted halfway to Caer Gwidich, and were Gods knew where now, living in the forests or brought down by roving bands of Saxons. Once the remainder had arrived, they discovered that the Caer had been beating off Saxons like flies, and their crops outside the walls were wasted. What little they had, was no doubt being consumed by the people in the town itself, with none to spare for a wagon train to Deywr and a legion of men, let alone a long winter.

Lancelot avoided meetings with Arthur and Praetus, preferring to spend his time in the stables. He found it boring that Arthur and the man would spend hours reminiscing about Roman ways, Roman beliefs. Both were Pelagius followers, and argued philosophy into the early hours of the morning. Arthur was his friend, but he was too much a scholar sometimes, and it drove Lancelot mad. Soon Arthur would figure out a plan for them to get supplies to Octus and they could go home, he didn't need to hang around for that. Arthur would find him when he was needed.

So Lancelot took over stable watch there in the straw, enjoying the warmth from the horses and the smells that were as close to normal as he could get in this horrible hole of a place. Somehow, after four days in the Caer, the men found mead, and spent quite a bit of time gambling and drinking with the rest of the cohort. The knights, save Bors and Gawain were the only ones that abstained, none of them finding the taste of fermented honey and herbs much to their liking. Any wine from their own wagons, or in the compound, was long gone. Lancelot was in no mood for gambling or drinking, his thoughts elsewhere, much to his frustration.

That was where he was yet again on the afternoon of the sixth day, sitting on a soft bed of straw, his back to his horse's stall, Klyndd's head down beside him, chewing softly on hay. The sound of horses eating was quiet, rhythmical comfort, and coupled with the patter of more rain outside, it was lulling him to sleep, his chin touching his chest, legs sprawled in front of him, relaxed completely.

He had unwrapped Cerys' gift, the roll open in his hand. She had packed gauze for his injured finger, two branches of dried mint, and a bone needle with some black thread, carefully placed into the linen so it would not fall out of the roll. He had spent every evening looking down at it, wondering at it. How had she known he loved the smell of mint? It reminded him of her, and he played out images of her in his head. He was sure that he was going to regret letting himself think of her like this, but the long hours made him give into his feelings. Damn but he wished that things could be different and... and what? Always the same thought pattern, always the same conclusion before sleep, that he was not worthy of her.

He had used the gauze sparingly on his finger, but did not touch the mint. It stayed close to his chest in his cuirass every day, and he could smell the faint aroma as he rode, it staying dry under his armour. It had been the only thing keeping him sane, so he believed.

He roused at splashing coming up the rise towards the stable, and Bors thundered in, spraying mud and muck everywhere as he went, his face red, a smile from ear to ear.

"Get up Lancelot, get up, for the love of the Gods... You lazy goat! There's an attack!"

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**Dear Reader:**

Here is part one of two chapters with Lancelot. I had it as one chapter, but it was monstrous, and had two different atmospheres, so I split it. I hope you see the difference between the two, and I hope that they flow well into one another.

These chapters were written with the memory of Bernard Cornwell's fantastic battle scene descriptions in his trilogy of Arthur books, and I cherish them dearly. I can only hope to be able to master his detail somewhere in my writing someday.

Thank you for your continued support withthe journey we have all taken with Cerys and her knights, and I hope that your own journeys take you to wonderful places, both in your writing and in your own lives.

_Cardeia_


	15. Minted Battlements

**Disclaimer: **I do not own any of the character names, save my own original creations. I do not wish to be compensated for this work, nor do I wish to infringe on any copyrights held by any stakeholders of the movie King Arthur. This work is an original creation, based on the legend of King Arthur and his knights.

* * *

**Chapter 15:** **_Minted Battlements_**

Bors was roaring, throwing his cloak off his armour and beginning to dress. The rest of the knights sprinted in after him, mud and wet covering them, their eyes brittle with the prospect of battle coursing through their veins. Tristan alone walked in, flicking hair back from his eyes, calmly biting into a hunk of bread as he moved his armour about.

Lancelot rolled to his feet, quickly stuffing Cerys' gift under his tunic, and strode to his own.

"How many?" He asked as he slid into his still wet leather arming doublet, rolling the sleeves down over his tunic.

"A damned lot of them! Can't you hear the drums?" Perceval said, walking past with his weap­ons in hand.

Tristan held up a hand and the men stopped in unison, habit learned from years together to stop and be quiet, to listen. Through the now slackening rain, they could hear the steady "Thrum-Thrum" of the Saxon war drums, faint in the distance. Lancelot felt his skin prickle. No matter how many times he heard the drums, it was always menacing, always made him shiver.

"Why are they attacking?" Galahad asked suddenly.

To his right, Gawain belted on his scales and shrugged. "Why not? They may be as hungry as these townsfolk are... and if they can take and hold the keep here, then they have gained a keep to winter troops in."

Once dressed and armed, they lined up on the inner compound battlements beside Arthur, who had already dressed in the quarters that Praetus afforded him, bow in hand, sword at hip. He nodded to Lancelot, and turned his head back out to look on the massing army.

"Plan?" Lancelot asked nonchalantly.

Arthur raised an eyebrow and kept his gaze to the growing swarm of men at the mouth of the causeway. The rain had been so heavy that the bog's water level had risen, and the road was half covered in slimy muck. Thirty or so men were attempting to roll a battering ram across it to reach the doors of the Caer, and wheels kept sliding off the edge of the narrow road. Curses in their native tongue echoed up to the men standing on the battlements looking down, yelling and pointing, laughing at their struggle.

"They have not shielded the sides." Tristan stated, turning heads towards him.

"Well... Then shall we give them a reminder of why this is important?" Lancelot jested, pulling his bow off his back and stringing it, his sideways grin growing wide across his face. Oh, this would be fun.

Gawain wiggled his eyebrows and broke into a broad grin as well, and the knights all strung their bows. Arthur shouted to Jols to bring the rolls of arrows and Jols hobbled off to get them from the wagons, his own bow slung over a shoulder. Each knight had a quiver, but they would need more.

"I figure there's... what, 500 or so of the dirty buggers down there, eh?" Bors grunted as he squinted down at the attackers, his finger moving as he mouthed out numbers.

"Bors, when did you learn how to count?" Galahad laughed, as he checked his bowstring and rubbed dirt off of it, wetting his thumb and finger, running up and down the length, his laughing eyes giving the only indication that he was not completely focused on his task.

Bors threw a dirty look to him and grunted "Be careful boy, or I will teach you just how I can count when I whup your arse."

The knights threw barbs back and forth quietly to one another a moment more, and then Arthur notched and pulled an arrow, as did Tristan. At Arthur's nod, Tristan and he both loosed their arrows in the direction of the causeway. Arthur's thumped wide into the top of the battering ram, Tristan's sprouted from the top of a Saxon skull. The splash the body made as it fell into the bog echoed up, and the men along the wall cheered.

Praetus, mounting the top step to the battlements, hollered for silence, and barked off commands to the men to fortify the inner compound and station archers along the other walls. He nodded once to Arthur and strode off, confident that the knights and a few other men could handle the door to the outer wall without him from their vantage. Lancelot watched him go, his hobnailed Roman boots and armour giving an air of close containment. Romans... He sighed. Always wanting control of everything. He supposed that at this point, with an army massing outside the walls, it was permitted.

They were only 500 men strong in the Caer, and could take no chances of losing any, being equally matched or outnumbered by the growing army in front of them. Lancelot felt a bit more at ease as the sounds of battle began around him, and he focused. Men shouting, weapons clang­ing as they ran, arrows clacking on the stone as Jols dumped them in front of the knights. He knew that they would have siege engines to deal with soon, and hoped that the Saxons would not be able to get to the edge of the bog, and thus stay out of range.

But they had range.

Each of the knights and a handful of other men began raining arrows down onto the Saxons on the causeway. One by one, men fell, and others would run up and take their place at the long stick-handles used to push the ram forward. Cries and shouts, grunts and screams mixed with splashing and grinding of wheel on stone. Lancelot's fingers flew as he notched arrow after ar­row. He mentally ran through in his head. They had now killed over forty men, yet still they pushed forward! Whomever was leading this small army of men was in no way an expert at war... or was desperate.

He gritted teeth, loosing another arrow and then grinning as it thumped into the back of a man below. He took a moment to wave and blow a kiss at another Saxon who was shaking a fist up at them and screaming something in his own language.

"Aww now pet, stop fretting, we will kill you soon enough!" He shouted down to the man, en­joying the mocking tone he took as he teased the man. Not that the Saxon understood what he said, but it made Lancelot feel the better for saying it.

An arrow cut through the Saxon's neck and he dropped like a stone. Bors grinned and blew a loud kiss over to Lancelot.

"Sorry Goat, 'fink I just killed your lover." He razzed.

Lancelot laughed loudly, the men joined him, and even Arthur smiled. It was good to be feeling useful again, and all of them felt the same excitement, the same exhilaration. This was their job, and they were good at it. Bloody rain or no, they would succeed in holding this damned place.

More arrows thumped into Saxons, and the battering ram stopped its advance as more men ran forward to replace their dead companions. The causeway was beginning to be littered with bod­ies, blood, and arrows that had missed their mark.

"That's the same symbol of the Saxon that was attacking us in Dewyr." A man from Octuses troops further down the row exclaimed, pointing out from his spot on the wall.

Arthur peered up. "Are you sure? Our scouts did not put him so close to Elmet. "

"That's 'im. Damned thing haunts me dreams."

"None of the scouts came back to tell us otherwise." Tristan said quietly. Arthur's brow fur­rowed and he nodded.

Lancelot looked up then to see a standard waving above the crowd on the far side of the bog. He could just make out a blotched red symbol, and then the familiar tassels, that from far away looked like cloth in the wind. From close up, Lancelot knew, they were arms and fingers of a dead man, skin flayed and stretched across the wooden frame. The fingers rattled in the breeze, giving the impression that they were wiggling and alive.

Saxons were brutal, brutal monsters, and he shuddered involuntarily.

"You know what that means." Perceval said slowly, his eyes also riveted on the standard.

A few of the men nodded, knowing full well that this army had breached Octuses troops, and there would be no need of supply wagons now. If there were any troops left, they would be en­slaved, tortured, or running.

Lancelot glanced to Arthur and noticed a look of defeat cross through the man's eyes quickly, then regain their hardness. Arthur was so good at shoving his feelings deep inside, and it was quite evident he felt responsible for the loss of Octus and his troops.

"It's not your fault." He said quietly.

"Octus was a good man. I hope he lives."

The knights heard clattering of arrows hitting halfway up the wall of the inner compound, and peered out to find a few archers desperately trying to gain range from the edge of the bog close to the causeway. The troops on the causeway had finally gotten smart and put shields over their heads as they ran for the ram. They watched other archers move forward on the outer wall, with­in range of Saxons from the end of the causeway, and all grimaced when they were deluged with arrows.

Damn stupidity! Lancelot thought. Why would they line themselves up on the wall like that? Those men would have been better served to stay on the inner compound battlements and shoot from there... not from the bloody outer wall!

"Who sent those men there?" He growled.

"That's Roman logic for you." Galahad said as he shook his head.

"Stupid fools."

"I know." Came Arthur's quick reply.

The knights, stopped momentarily as they watched the men on the outer wall slowly die, re­gained their rhythm from their vantage. More men had scurried forward to the edge of the bog.

Notch, pull, release. Notch, pull, release.

Lancelot felt his shoulders begin to ache, but he sped his rhythm, focusing hard on his task. He felt good at that moment. Damned bastard Saxons, get off our land! He screamed in his head. Our land? He rolled that around in his head for the briefest moment before focusing on his bow again.

He thumped yet another arrow into yet another Saxon, where three others sprouted at the same time. He breathed in deeply, feeling the leathers creak across his chest. He felt like he was going to burst, the energy flowing through him so hard to contain. He loved this feeling, like he could throw thunderbolts from his fingertips; he could cut down entire armies with his swords in one slice! He felt invincible, immortal. The bloodlust rode hard in his veins and bubbled out of him like boiling water. Right at that moment, he wanted to be down there, hacking and chopping. His arms were vibrating, his heart pounding.

"RUUUUUAHHH!" He screamed to release the pressure, and quickened his rhythm yet again. Some of the men echoed him, and Bors continued swearing loudly, his own form of releasing the adrenalin that coursed through is veins in the same way.

"Their ballistas are up!" Gawain yelled and pointed. All heads turned in unison as they heard the creaking of the ballistas as they rolled into place just to their right along the edge of the bog.

"Wait! They will try to get closer to the edge, our range will be better." Tristan yelled above the activity, his hand held up to the knights who were notching arrows, ready to attempt shots at the men pushing the war machines closer.

They waited, whistling arrows still raining down from the other archers on the wall, clattering of Saxons arrows still missing their target of the top of the wall. They could hear the thunk of arrows hitting wood shields, and the occasional splash or scream when a mark was hit. The knights stood, arrows notched, waiting for the ballistas to come into enough range to make each arrow count. They were running low, and any arrows still left intact outside the walls could not be recovered. Each shot had to count.

Lancelot counted six men on each ballista, and there were three ballistas. His chest heaving, he glanced to the other knights. Their own chests heaving, their blood up, eyes glittering with it. His jaw clenched and unclenched slowly, as he counted the steps the Saxons took to the edge of the bog.

"Wait..."came the quiet command from Arthur, then, " Knights... NOW!"

He loosed his arrow, the string vibrating back to his face causing him to blink away at the drop­lets of water that sprayed from the sodden jute. A volley from the other men followed close af­ter.

Two of the ballistas stopped as Saxons ran from the arrows. The third, also unmanned, began rolling on its own through a downward slope, and did not stop until it was tilted into the edge of the bog. Men were scrambling after it, and an arrow from Bors and Perceval each stopped their rescue attempt. The ballista slowly floundered to its side and sunk into the muck well up over the wooden wheels.

Slowly, they watched the Saxon army move back. The battering ram was abandoned, and an archer shot a burning arrow into it. It began to burn brightly, its dry wood popping and snapping as the flames coursed along its pock-marked surface. Bodies littered the causeway and along the bank, where some men had tried to gain range for arrows, or ford through the deep mire, only to drown or be shot by an arrow. Flaming arrows went flying out to the ballistas, and they too crackled as they burst into flames.

Evening approached, and the wind and rain died. From the tops of the Caer, Lancelot counted the bodies and shuddered. With arrows alone, they had killed over two hundred men. He could hear the groaning of the ones still left alive. This was the part of battle he hated. His earlier bloodlust faded from his body, replaced by tiredness and aching muscles.

"There is no more threat tonight men." Arthur's voice broke the silence. The knights nodded, tired arms hanging at their sides, exhaustion setting in. They had spent a good amount of time pulling bowstrings, shoulders and backs would be sore tonight.

"I would give anything for the warm baths right now." Perceval sighed as he eased himself to a sitting position, his back to the battlement wall.

Arthur walked off a ways, and stood leaning on a turret, looking out to where the Saxons were re-grouping and camping for the night, his arms folded, his face unreadable. Torches lit the landscape outside the Caer, along with the bonfires now gleefully burning the war machines to ashes.

"We could head for home now, if not for that blockage eh?" Lancelot said as he joined his friend to look out to the enemy on the other side of the bog.

Arthur nodded and rubbed his hands over his face, turning to face Lancelot. "Yes. I would so love to get out of this damp stinking place. I would much rather be home."

It was Lancelot's turn to nod. A picture of Cerys flashed through his mind and he sighed. Damn... no sooner had he come down from killing than she entered his brain again.

Home.

Arthur pushed off the turret and turned towards the stairs down, his shoulders heavy with more than just his efforts with his bow. Lancelot wondered how much Arthur was thinking of his re­sponsibility, and their failure to get to Octus in time.

Lancelot sombered at the same thought, and the familiar scent on mint from behind his cuirass drifted up to him. He smiled.

* * *

**Dear Reader:**

Although minds focus on battle when in the heat, thoughts of home and friends are never far off, as we see. As soon as the bloodlust and adrenalin ebbs, our knights are once again human, instead of hardened and trained killers. Lancelot with thoughts of home, Arthur with thoughts of friends lost. Perceval with the need to be pampered!

I liken their jobs as soldiers as a necessity of their times. Like today's corporate world, people take on alternate personalities when behind their desk, and change when at home with their loved ones. Are our knights of old and our corporate executives much different, with job demeanors borne out of necessity? Interesting comparison, and worth much more thought than these few words can provide. But, these knights did not have a choice... In todays world, we do.

I digress. I hope you have enjoyed this chapter, and I look forward to posting the next.

_Cardeia_


	16. A Feeling Invalid

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the character names, save my own original creations. I do not wish to be compensated for this work, nor do I wish to infringe on any copyrights held by any stakeholders of the movie King Arthur. This work is an original creation, based on the legend of King Arthur and his knights.

* * *

**Scribe Notes:**

_**To all:**_ The reviews I have received for this story have truly kept me motivated. The reviews I received for chapters 13 to 15 have given me the most wonderfully full and happy feeling! This website has lived up to what I hoped it would be, which is a group of like-minded people sharing ideas, opinions, and great stories about something we find irresistable. Thank you. I have posted lengthy responses here, as you have given me so much to work with in your own time spent writing your reviews.

_Winged Seraph:_ Many thanks again. I am glad that I have been able to keep the characters to their traits from the movie for you. It's not easy, since we all see them in a slightly different way. Your continued support really touches me.

_Babaksmiles:_ Humanity in killers is something we sometimes overlook, and it got me thinking about how these men, after so much blood spilled, could be fathers, brothers, lovers. It was a different time. I hope that these next two chapters will help Cerys get back to what is important, and realize just how crazy she really was for working so hard.

_History2:_ You have hit the nail on the head with Lancelot. he will need to realize that he is not just a fighting machine, that there are other aspects to life. He needs to realize that loving someone is ok, and that he is worthy of it, he is a good man. Cerys will help him with that, just as he, in another way (I haven't figured that out yet) will help her to open her heart to feel, and bring more into her life than work. Cerys will need many people to help her do that, and these two chapters will start this process, I hope.

_Burnt Alice:_ Your words are so kind! I am thrilled that you are enjoying the story. My Cerys has been a bit of a challenge to write, being not an amazon-type warrior, or a high-born priestess etc. She is flawed, but so are we all and I have tried to give her traits that I would see in a woman today, holding down a job, with pressures of family and friends all around her. That being said, she has pressures we would never see, that being the welfare of all the people at that fort. She is the original multi-tasker. Too bad they did not have Daytimers back then. She would be a power-user! grin Thank you for your review.

_Ailis-70:_

When your review came into my inbox this evening, I was floored, so this section will hopefully give you some feedback to your comments. Your words are wonderful!  
I have eluded a bit to Gawain's troubles when he plaited a green scale from armour into Demetia's mane. I hope to weave this back in at some point.This idea stems from one renditon of the legend where Gawain fights a Green Knight. I am still researching this idea.  
I have given Guinevere a different feel in this story. I felt that her character, although wonderfully strong and beautiful in the movie, was a tad over the top for the feel I wanted here. I have given her more Roman-like qualities, but retained her pictish heritage. She is high-born in native society, and as suchis now the Queen,but neither does she need to fight and run about in next to nothing in my story. She is strong in her own way, but also in love with her Arthur, giving her softness. I hope that the next two chapters can bring a bit more light to her for you. Perhaps the idea is not that you should like her, but understand what she has to deal with, and respect her ability to ford ahead.  
Tristan reading is perfect, I agree with you. I wonder how much of a philosopher he would become in his later years. I have tried to give him the mediator role a bit between Lancelot and Cerys, as he is close to Cerys as brother, close to Lancelot from years of riding to battle together. He doesn't need to meddle, but he is concerned. I am looking forward to writing his scenes in battle, his fluid movements will be so exciting, bringing in the grace he has with his blade.  
I think Lancelot and Cerys do compliment each other in a way. Each have their own misgivings, but they mesh together well. Otherwise their dancing would not be so well done, steps intuitive to the other. However, confusion is the name of the game with love that you are balking against. I enjoy giving his character a bit of fallibility. grin He does deserve her, he deserves to be happy. She deserves him, she deserves to be loved.  
My names are derived from Welsh. As Arthur is a legend from Wales predominantly, so I have tried to phonetically bring words in. Hywel (pronounced "Hooil") means goodbye. I came across that recently, and now get a kick out of every time I read Bernard Cornwell's name for Derfel's sword "Hywelbane". Such a good name for a sword that sends Saxons to their maker!  
Cerys (pronounced "Care-us") is a name I found on a Welsh names database. I am not sure what it means. the first name I had for her, Cariad (promounced "car-ee-ad"), means darling. A bit too much, so I changed it to be more sublte. Now I love that name. "Care-us" describes the way she is perfectly. Caring for others before herself.  
Dafydd (pronounced "Daf-ud") is a traditional Welsh name, usually using two f's "Daffydd". Terryn, Klyndd, Nimli, Brinn, are my own creations playing with the Welsh alphabet. Apollo and Demetia are gods from Myth I believe (not sure where, but I rode horses with those names so I had to bring them in). Meritus sounded Roman and stuffy, perfect for a big white warmblood horse for the King. Grin Sky is named simply because Tristan wishes he could fly, and on his Sky, he can.  
I changed Vanora's name to Lorina, as I really didn't like the way it played off tongue when I read my story out loud. Lorina, is of course, a Roman name, and I think it melds better.

Ok, enough babbling on. Everyone has given me such inspiration! Here are the next two chapters.

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**Chapter 16: _A Feeling Invalid_**

Dafydd pushed open the door to Cerys' room and peeked in. Cerys was sitting in a chair, her back to the door, looking out her window to the edge of the common, and the alley. Her hair was a tangle behind her head, and he noticed she had not changed her dress for a few days. Her chamber pot was full, and the fire was a smudge of ashes and soft coals.

Lorina had mentioned to Dafydd that she was not letting either her or Guinevere, or any of the women, for that matter, into her rooms to help her. They were worried she was giving up, her over-worked temper pushed too far. They were at a loss as to why she had pushed so hard to make herself sick, and been so distant since.

Her right hand was still able to hold things, her left completely bandaged. Her spirit, that was another matter. Dafydd grimaced silently and closed the door behind him.

"What do you want?" She said, not even looking backwards, her voice thin.

"Cerys, I came to check on your dressings. Have I come at a bad time?"

Cerys sighed. Dafydd was so good to her, and here she was snapping again. She truly wanted to be left alone! She felt miserable and useless, with her hands bandaged, resting in her lap like hunks of dead meat.

It had been three days since Guinevere had dragged her to Dafydd's offices, three days since she had fallen to the floor. Three days where she could not supervise the harvest. She was told by Guinevere that Hywel, Nimli, Lorina and herself were doing just fine getting crops in, and the rain had slackened enough that they were able to get the all the millet in without problems, and the hall rafters groaned with the weight of wet bundles, quickly drying.

No help from her, she reflected bitterly. No help at all. All she could do was sit here and be tor­tured by her own thoughts, a useless lump of flesh.

"No Dafydd, I'm sorry, please come in." She said softly, her head bowing to look down at her feet.

Dafydd entered and crouched down beside her. He could see streaks on her cheeks from her tears, her eyes empty and sad.

"Let's have a look, shall we?"

Cerys held up her right hand limply as he pulled off the soft linen over the gauze around her palms. She winced as he carefully pulled bits away from crusted blood and tisked. From his bag he produced more salve and re-applied it. He switched to her left hand and she gasped as he pushed his fingers at a new swollen blister.

"I have to open that and let it drain, then we need to leave the bandages off to let it cure." He said, pulling out a needle. He wiped it clean with some of the salve, and she watched him prick it. Goo spewed out onto the bandage still cradling the back of her hand, and she turned away, swallowing hard. The smell was horrible.

"Dafydd, what have I done to myself?"

Dafydd put a hand to her shoulder, the other still holding her hand on the bandage. His face showed his concern for her. She was not healthy, and his fear was that she had burnt her spirit to a crisp trying to get the crops in. There was, though, something else.

"Your hands will heal child, but I am worried about your heart."

Cerys looked up to him and her eyes brimmed with new tears. "What of it?"

He smiled softly and patted her shoulder before rising to fetch new bandages from the sack of supplies he had carried with him. He took breath and spoke his mind.

"You work so hard, yet you give yourself no time for leisure. The only time I see you enjoying yourself is when Arthur and the knights are home. Your life is not just this fort Cerys. Your duty is not just to Arthur and the people who rely on you, but also to yourself."

He could hear her soft sobs begin as he returned to her side. He knew she felt so helpless, and he wondered at what had turned this confident woman into such a shell. She had been this way for some time now. An outer facade of poise, showing the world she was as tough as a knight in armour. Brief glimpses of happiness, periods of seeming normalcy. But, on the inside, he thought she was hiding emptiness, loneliness. She ran the fort like a general, but cared little to properly see to her own needs most of the time, the harvest, her crew and her hands the latest evidence.

He lifted her chin to look at her and he saw anguish radiate out from her eyes. It broke his heart to see her this way.

"Please, tell me what bothers you so that makes you work your hands to the bone and your body to exhaustion."

She shook her chin away from his grasp and returned her gaze to her feet, blanking her eyes, her tears drying as quickly as they had started.

"I wish not to talk about it."

Dafydd nodded. She was not ready, or perhaps he was not the right person for her to share with. He won­dered to himself if she was finally breaking, after all these years under her self-ordered solitude, and if her heart would open back up to let some man love her. It was a mystery that only time and her trust could solve. He thought, if only briefly, how if he was young enough, that he would care for her, love her. She reminded him too much of his own wife, now dead these past two years. He smiled briefly at the memory of her, and how Cerys helped him remember his love, through her. Ahh, he was getting old and foolish in his thoughts, he chastised himself.

He finished his ministrations on her right hand. "I will be back in two hours time to re-bandage your other hand. Will you keep it still until then?"

She nodded and he left silently, giving her the space he felt she was wanting.

After some moments of silence after his leaving, Cerys sighed and looked down to her swollen left hand, now resting on her thigh. Damn but it hurt! She wished to cut it off. She felt her temper rising, but with no way to placate it, she gritted her teeth and forced it back down. By now she would have thrown something. Small mercy that, she could not afford to break yet another clay basin.

Right then, she was desperate for her cousin's company, and her chest constricted with the thought. He would tell her what to do, and help her cheer up. He would tell her stories of their battles, stories of their mothers... stories about his father, and her father, before they died togeth­er on the battlefield for Rome.

She missed the men so much! How could she explain to Dafydd that her whole world revolved around those seven men, and the purpose they brought to her life? She loved each of them so much. The only thing that kept her going when they were away was her work, and she needed it, she worried so much about them coming home safely.

She thought of how wonderful it would be to hug Arthur, to sit quietly with Tristan and share some cheese. How much she missed teasing Bors and fending off Gawain and Galahad when they were boisterous. She thought of Perceval and his overblown oratories on her hair, eyes, or bottom. Despite her sour mood it brought a light smile to her face, thinking of each of them in turn.

She felt herself tearing up again as her thoughts turned to Lancelot. How she missed him most, she was not sure, but he was in her thoughts constantly since they had left. Her mind played im­ages of him dancing, laughing, sitting quietly and smiling to her. No matter when she thought of him, her abdomen would warm and she would briefly think to his kiss from the baths, his arms around her. Stupidity to think of a man, friend for so long, this way.

He had women aplenty, showing the rest of the fort that he wished not for anything more than the variety his trysts afforded him. No matter how hard she worked, no matter how she denied herself sleep, he would poke at her mind, dance through her dreams, his deep baritone laughter and mischievous eyes daring her.

She would not allow herself to fall in love with him. It wasn't right, his actions of late nothing but male instincts, she had already concluded that. But... she knew these feelings were more than just simple longing for a friend's touch. Damn him and his stabbing eyes! Damn him for making her feel so confused! Why must he be the one to rekindle these feeling in her after all these years? Why?

The tears now fell hard and fast, her sobs becoming louder, her shoulders shaking as she tried to maintain control. She did not hear the door opening, Lorina and Guinevere together tip-toe in.

"Cerys!" Guinevere breathed and ran to her, her arms enfolding her shoulders, her forehead touching her friend's ear. "Please love, please don't cry. We are here."

Lorina came around front of Cerys and looked painfully concerned. She reached up with the hem of her dress and blotted at the tears, now falling wetly across cheeks.

Both women were at a loss for what to do, and fretted over her, patting her, stroking her hair. Cerys blinked as her sobs softened once more. Her friends were here, she must regain her con­trol! What must they think of this?

"I'm sorry." She mumbled.

Lorina shook her head. "You must tell us what is wrong so that we can help. By the Gods, Cerys, you cannot work so hard and hurt yourself again. You will give us both measures to tie you to your bed."

Cerys looked from Guinevere to Lorina. These women were friends. They would understand wouldn't they? They were like family too weren't they? She blinked a few more times and sniffed. She couldn't rub at her eyes, and it was quite uncomfortable, having the puffiness from tears sitting un-itched.

"I want to be useful. This sitting is driving me to madness. I..." She sniffed once more.

Guinevere nodded and flicked a glance to Lorina. Lorina unfolded the sheepskin maps from her pocket and held them up for Cerys to see. This was why they had come in the first place, to give her news of the harvest, to hopefully cheer her.

"This field is the last one to come in." Lorina pointed on the map, "Then, we are done. Your efforts helped us to get everything in!"

"Cerys, never think that you are not useful." Guinevere said softly.

Cerys longed to pick the maps out of Lorina's hands, and she raised her left hand up instinctive­ly, wincing, then setting it back down again. Swollen fingers protested, more fluid oozed out of the new blister. She bleated in pain again and sagged.

"See? Your worrying is over! Now all we need to do is finish the preserving." Guinevere added brightly, trying anything to get her friend to cheer up. She looked quickly to the table over by the window, rose and fetched Cerys' bone comb. She moved back to Cerys and began combing the knots out of her hair.

"But what about the pigs? How many cattle will we need to kill before winter solstice? What about..." Cerys stopped again, a look of worry crossing her face.

"Never mind about that, the women in the kitchens tell us we are more than prepared."

Cerys abruptly turned her head to look to both women. She licked her lips and gathered her courage to ask them something that she had wanted to ask them for so long. Perhaps they would understand. She was tired of hiding her emotions and feelings in her duties. She needed to talk to someone about this or she would burst at the seams.

"How do you deal with having your men gone for so long, always wondering at their return? You both seem to... accept their absence so well." She blurted, her face reddening.

There, she had asked. Now they would know her weakness. She wanted to cover her face, to disappear. What would they think of her, being so weak when she was supposed to be strong?

Cerys watched Lorina look above her head to Guinevere, and then back to Cerys' face.

"Oh Cerys. Is this what bothers you when the men leave? You turn into this working machine the minute they gallop out the gates... Why have you never mentioned this until now?" Lorina's hand came up to cradle Cerys' cheek, her eyes softening, the maps thrown to the floor. Cerys felt the mother in Lorina come out, and it was comfort to her.

Cerys shrugged. "They are my family; they have all been my friends for so many years. It has always been hard, even when they were young. I just... I marvel at how you deal with it, is all. I seem unable. I see you are sad, but... you regain yourselves and continue on so well."

The comb stopped its movement at the back of her head and she felt Guinevere's arms wrap around her once more. Guinevere's warmth flowed through to Cerys's shoulders and she was glad for the contact at that moment, her vulnerability evident.

"We let ourselves cry, we get mad, we distract ourselves, I throw Arthur's books at the wall... I sulk for days on end, which you have noticed, and you always give me extra chores to do... But... Cerys, we let ourselves feel." A muffled voice echoed in her ear.

"My children help me to stay focused, knowing that I have Bors around me no matter what." Lorina said, a smile now showing, her hand not moving from Cerys' cheek.

"You should let these feelings out, tell us about them! Bottling them up and throwing them at your duties only makes you sick, as I think you have realized." Guinevere said, releasing her hold on her friend and coming around front of the chair again. Cerys nodded slowly.

"You cannot get up early, retire late and make us worry so anymore, we won't let you." Lorina stated, rising up and turning to poke at the hearth. The sun was going down slowly and the room was chilling in the afternoon air.

Cerys felt a moment of panic come to her. They would tell Arthur! He would think her unfit to run the fort. She attempted to get out of her chair, her thoughts driving her to move. Guinevere pushed her gently back into her seat, her lips pursed.

"No you don't." She admonished. "Not until Dafydd has re-applied that bandage to your hand."

"Please, you can't tell Arthur... He will... he won't let me keep on with my work... I..." She fum­bled for words, her eyes pleading to her cousin's wife.

Guinevere shook her head. "He is as worried about you as we are. Before he left he was aware you were working much too hard. Has he not spoken to you of this?"

Cerys hung her head. Damn. That's why Lancelot was so worried in the baths that day, he and Arthur must have spoken about it.

"He won't set you out! You are his cousin and he loves you dearly!" Lorina said as she set new firewood to blaze, and wiped her hands together.

"We aren't going to let you do this to yourself again, do you hear?" Guinevere repeated Lorina's words, shaking a finger at her friend.

Cerys looked to the two women, and for the first time saw a new bond forming with them. She had always kept a bit of distance from them, feeling she could not relate to them, both being married, Lorina with as many children as she had. She was single, with no man or household, what common ground would they have?

She began to feel a bit more at ease again, and a smile crept to her face, a genuine smile. Maybe they did have common ground. Each of them loved the knights, each of them were as invested in this family as she was. For some strange reason, her mind played an image of Lancelot, and she pushed it away.

Perhaps she should stop worrying so much about the men when they were gone, they were ca­pable knights, adept warriors. It would be nice to talk about her feelings with these women, now that she knew that they understood her.

She had never really had close women friends before... and she liked the idea. Of course she was always friendly with Lorina and Guinevere, but... never on a level such as this. It had always seemed intimidating to her.

"Thank you for this... you... you are my friends. I am sorry I have not seen to your confidence before now."

Both women gave her another hug, and reassured her that she was indeed just fine. Lorina re­turned to building the fire, Guinevere to combing out Cerys' hair. They chatted then on less heavy subjects, and Cerys relaxed.

That was how Dafydd found them some time later, giggling and talking, all three with smiles on their faces. They turned in unison to greet him as he walked in the door, and he knew that this was the true medicine that Cerys needed to heal completely.

"Ladies." He said happily as he entered the room.

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**Dear Reader:**

I will keep my notes short. Please read above the start of the chapter for my responses to reviews, which have fueled my brain so much I may not sleep tonight.

_Cardeia_


	17. Fostering Friendship

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the character names, save my own original creations. I do not wish to be compensated for this work, nor do I wish to infringe on any copyrights held by any stakeholders of the movie King Arthur. This work is an original creation, based on the legend of King Arthur and his Knights.

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**Chapter 17: _Fostering Friendship_**

A few days later, Cerys was up and about, supervising the remainder of the tasks to do, to com­plete the harvest. Guinevere has given Brinn the task of helping her carry things, her hands not yet ready, and became her shadow as she moved about her duties.

Indeed, Cerys again felt useful. If Brinn caught her trying to pick up a basket, or move some­thing in the store rooms, he would gently pull her away, or grab the thing out of her hands. She would grin mischievously, and they would move on to the next area so she could check on the crews, hemm and haw over the drying millet, poke her nose into the kitchens to see how the preserving was coming. Brinn would puff out his chest and tell her to stop each time, the young boy playing the chivalrous knight as best he could.

Cerys liked Brinn. He was abouttwelve summers old, and was starting to fill out a bit. It would not be long before his father gave him a sword to use. The thought was both sad and happy, for she knew the boy wanted desperately to become a knight, but sad at the thought of his adult years being spent killing and fighting.

In truth, when Brinn prattled on to her, he spoke of nothing else other than being a knight as great as Arthur, as skilled as Lancelot, as strong as Bors. On and on he would talk about how he would be the best swordsman, the best rider. He exclaimed that he would have a horse as brave as Klyndd and they would kill Saxons together like no one had done before. Grand aspirations for a young squire, but it made him excited, and Cerys enjoyed the bubbling happiness that sprang forth from him.

As they spent time together, if Cerys could get a word in edgewise, it was a rare thing indeed.

"How long have you been Lancelot's squire, Brinn?" She managed finally, while they were walking out to the gardens to check on the squash.

He had a stick in his hands, and was running it along the saw grass at the edge of the road as they walked. He stopped, thought a moment, and counted on his fingers.

"Three, I 'fink." he said slowly.

Cerys nodded. She remembered that day. The knights had come home from a long, drawn-out battle, and Lancelot had lost his old squire, Yurri, in the fray. Lancelot felt the loss greatly; Yurri had been a surrogate father for him when he was young, and new to Britain. Arthur had no idea what to do, since there were no other men who could take over Yurri's duties. The other men in the stables offered up, but none could replace the quiet, older man. Lancelot decided he would just take care of his own horse and be done with it.

A few days later they had found Brinn in the stables, standing in Klyndd's stall, petting as far up the stallion's leg as he could, talking to him and prattling on about how pretty he was, how strong, how brave. The stallion, known for biting and kicking strangers, was carefully rubbing his upper lip in the boy's hair, a sleepy and peaceful look to his big liquid eyes, one hip rested contentedly. Lancelot had immediately employed the young boy to feed and care for the large horse. If the horse tolerated him, then it was a match, for the horse tolerated few except for Yur­ri, Lancelot and perhaps Jols, but only when tired from a gallop.

Since then, Brinn had followed the knight everywhere he could in the compound. At first, Lancelot was annoyed. Children were not really his idea of companionship, but, as Brinn did with everyone, he grew on the knight, and Brinn had done well for him, keeping Klyndd well fed and cared for. Eventually Lancelot had hired him on as squire, and Brinn became a fixture in the fort, toting armour as big as himself here and there for cleaning, fixing or preparing for his master to leave.

"Your father will give you a sword soon, won't he? You are almost old enough to begin your training, if you wish it." She added. She watched the boy, whom she expected to smile, frown and stab the grass with his stick harshly.

"I don't have a sword, or a father. My parents are gone."

Cerys walked over to the boy. Oh dear. Suddenly she understood why the boy had been so taken with Lancelot. Why had no one told her? She pursed her lips, crouched down and gently placed her right hand on his shoulder. He looked up to her, his face set in a scowl.

"Where do you live Brinn? I did not know... I'm so sorry."

He gulped, and she could see she had upset him, he was holding back tears as hard as he could. She remained where she was, and he abruptly dropped his stick, and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. She carefully wrapped hers around him, and held him as tight as she could. She had no idea what to do, this young boy hugging her fiercely was a very new sensation. She suddenly want­ed to comfort, and take care of him.

"I live in the stable loft. Lancelot gives me food." He said, sniffing and wiping his nose with the back of his hand.

"Well, Brinn, that isn't acceptable. I will help you find a better place to stay, and from now on, you will eat with the rest of the staff in the kitchens." She said back. "You are a knight's squire, soon to be in training! This will not do at all!"

She broke the hug and looked down to him, rising to her feet once more. He looked up to her, the dirt on his face now striped.

"You look like one of the animals in Arthur's books. I think it is called a zebra." She teased and brushed his cheek with her bandaged hand. He smiled. Good, she had gotten him to stop crying. The poor boy. She had no idea and her heart hurt at the thought of him being so alone, working so hard to please Lancelot. He would consider the knight to be a father-figure by now.

"What is a zebra?" He asked.

She began walking again, he followed, his hand on her wrist. She felt he needed to keep contact with her, but was so careful of her hands, and it was very touching to her, she held back tears of her own. They walked a few moments more to the gardens and she stopped at the first row of squash and bent down.

"Well, it's a horse with stripes!" She said, then had an idea. "How about I show you this evening! I have the book in my rooms; Arthur lent it to me before he left."

His face broke out beaming a smile. She smiled too. This was nice! She thought. It would be a lovely evening, he could hold the book for her and they could read together.

His face sobered quickly again. "But... I can't read."

"That's no matter, I will help you learn. I am learning too, and this winter, perhaps Lancelot will let you take time from your chores to read with me."

They continued with their chores then, Brinn rolling the large vegetables about so Cerys could see each side, deciding which ones should be picked, and which needed more time on the vine. They had finished two rows when Nimli joined them.

"Hello Brinn! Is Cerys keeping you out of trouble?" She teased as she ruffled his hair. All three laughed together, as in fact it was Brinn helping Cerys.

"You are needed back to the stable to bring in the mares; I can help Cerys for now."

Brinn nodded and got up from his spot in the garden.

"I can visit you after dinner hour tonight? You can show me a zebra?" He asked Cerys, his eyes happy and smiling.

Cerys nodded. "Of course. I will see you then."

The boy then ran off towards the fort, his bare heels kicking mud up behind him.

"That was nice of you, to offer to spend time with him." Nimli said as she rolled another squash close to her, peering at its green and yellow skin.

"I did not know he was an orphan. No one, not even Lancelot, ever mentioned it to me." She said quietly, looking in the direction Brinn had gone.

Nimli nodded. "He's a Pict. His father was killed when he was a baby... in a Roman raid. His mother died a few years ago. He came to the fort, with nowhere else really to go. We would find him in the loft of the barns sleeping and send him on his way but he always came back. It was Lancelot that really did save that boy."

Cerys nodded and grimaced. "I suppose everyone thought I was aware, but never really spoke of it, as it was considered common knowledge."

Nimli said nothing, just grimaced herself and they continued along the task that Cerys had start­ed with Brinn. Once finished, they walked arm in arm back towards the fort, talking of daily goings on, what needed to be brought up, or put into barrels.

Cerys was much more content. It felt like a weight had been taken off her shoulders, being able to talk to Guinevere and Lorina a few days before. She was still worried, still thinking on her knights, but, strangely, it no longer panicked her. She had even been sleeping at night! Her thoughts were calmer, and she realized now just how hard she had been working.

Cerys sat in the kitchens upon return and the women forced some bread and apple into her, twit­tering and clucking over her, telling her she must eat. She ate slowly and contemplated the day. Where would she find a place for Brinn? Lorina had no more room for children, and a whole apartment was not afforded to a twelve-year old boy. Did any of the stable men have room? Her thoughts engrossed her and she did not notice as Brinn joined her at the table she leaned against. He put his head into his hands and watched her, patiently waiting.

Cerys blinked and noticed the boy, pushing the remainder of her bread to him. He pushed it back, shaking his head. "No, you need to eat." He stated.

"Alright then. Have you eaten?" She asked as she carefully picked it up with her right hand and took another bite.

He nodded, his soft brown eyes following her. She smiled again. This boy could warm her heart like no other! She had never noticed him this well before now, and she wished she had not been so caught up in her own duties, for she could have been friends with him long before this. She made a decision then and there.

"Until you are able to find proper lodging for a knight in training, you will move your things into my rooms and stay with me. Would that be alright?" She said, rising to her feet from the bench she had been perched on.

He rose with her. The women, overhearing the conversation, turned and looked to the pair. A few of the women smiled. Nimli, hiding a grin behind her hand, whispered into one of the other women's ears.

"This will be more help for 'er than 'im I think, eh?" The other women nodded.

"Wonder what Lancelot will think, his squire living with his woman."

Nimli dug her elbow into the woman. "They aren't together... at least not yet. Both of them are too thick skulled to see it."

"Won't be long now I think." Another woman whispered and turned back to her duties. The oth­er women all slowly nodded and they too returned to their chores.

Brinn, at this point, had thrown his arms about Cerys, pinning her arms to her body. He would be taller than her in a summer, she thought, and she laughed as he thanked her over and over and over, squeezing with each word.

"Go then, get your things and come meet me outside. We will go see Hywel about getting a bar­racks bed delivered for you."

Brinn ran off quickly towards the stables and Cerys walked slowly outside. The evening was upon them, and the sunset was turning the clouds pink. She peered to the sky, thinking of the men, and where they were.

She wondered what Lancelot's reaction would be when he returned home to find her fostering his young squire. She was going to have words with him, letting him live in the stables! She pursed her lips. Well... once she got the nerve to. She could never stay mad at that man, no mat­ter what he had done. He would smile his sideways grin, hook an arm through hers and in a mo­ment she would be laughing at his joking. Damn... She moved an arm across her stomach and sighed. She missed him so much.

Brinn came skidding back, a small sack in his hands, jerking her out of her thoughts. She put an arm around him and they walked towards her rooms, talking and laughing.

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**Dear Reader:**

Too often we neglect to see important things around us. For Cerys to see Brinn, she needed to first see herself. First Guinevere and Lorina, now Brinn, will help her heal. I think, we can also conclude, Lancelot is needed to make the perscription work properly.

Thank you for your continued time, and I look foward to your reviews,the fuel it gives me to write more. As I have said many times before, may your own pens never stop moving on the page.

_Cardeia_


	18. A Pebble for your Thoughts

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the character names, save my own original creations. I do not wish to be compensated for this work, nor do I wish to infringe on any copyrights held by any stakeholders of the movie King Arthur. This work is an original creation, based on the legend of King Arthur and his knights.

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**Scribe Notes:**

_Sokorra Lewis:_ Thank you for your review! I am glad you are enjoying the original characters. Cerys has been a large work for me, and she lives and breathes, in my dreams.

_Winged Seraph:_ You bet! Let the healing begin. Hands and hearts may heal, but truly we can only heal ourselves of our internal conflict. Thanks for your continued support.

_History2:_ I have been delving more into the characters, and I am glad that you now have a better understanding of Cerys. You caught the symbolism of Brinn so well, and I am glad you saw it. Thank you again for your insight!

_Babaksmiles:_ YES! Cerys is every woman. I want to show that even then, we were the caretakers, the healers, the lovers, the cook and chief bottle-washers. But, not just because we were told to be and because the men wouldn't do it, but because we WANTED to care for everyone. That is my weakness as well as Cerys. We care so much we can't say no to helping or trying to please everyone.

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**Chapter 18:** **_A Pebble For Your Thoughts_**

Lancelot was throwing pebbles at his battle helmet, upturned on the ground a few paces in front of him. Each time a pebble landed inside, it tinged loudly in the silent stables. He shook the peb­bles remaining in his hand and frowned.

It had been four days since the Saxons had massed. Each day they would mount a new attack, each day the arrows would push them back from the edge of the bog. He was growing tired of this routine. He wanted to ride out, slash those forsaken animals to bits and ride for home. What was making Arthur wait so long? He threw another pebble angrily, misjudging the distance. It hit Tristan square in the knee as he walked up to where Lancelot and his helmet were sitting.

"Practicing for when we run out of arrows?" He said dryly, sitting down beside him.

Lancelot gave his friend the best withering look he could and threw another pebble. It bounced off the rim and into the soft dirt beside.

"Your aim will need to get better."

Lancelot grunted and threw pebbles to the floor, jerking up from his seat and walking over to the helmet. He turned it over and a small pile of pebbles formed on the ground at his feet.

"I see. You have been working hard."

Another dry remark. Lancelot could see Tristan trying very hard not to grin from behind his wet straggly locks, his blue eyes dancing with mirth. Lancelot then too realized that he was being an idiot and he grinned, letting out a chuckle.

"Sorry friend. Been so bloody bored of this waiting to leave. We don't have to go to Dewyr, but yet we wait here. We could easily march out and..."

Tristan held up a hand to stop Lancelot's rant. "Arthur is waiting for scouts to return."

Lancelot nodded, realizing. "And he won't leave until he finds out if Octus does still live."

Tristan nodded once, and then his eyes caught Cerys' roll of linen, spread out on the bench be­side where Lancelot had been sitting. Lancelot quickly walked over, rolled it up and stuffed it away. He sat down again, clearing his throat, and stared out the door. His eyes went hard; trying to hide whatever else it was that had been bothering him.

"You love her."

Lancelot snapped his head up to Tristan. The quiet knight looked calmly to him, his hands fold­ed, arms resting on knees. They stared at each other for a moment. Lancelot kicked at the dirt under his foot and turned his gaze to the floor. He swallowed slowly, his mind working on some­thing to say.

"I've tried not to think... She doesn't deserve... oh Hells!" He exploded, getting up once more from his seat and pacing, his hands through his hair, his jaw bouncing as he tried to contain his frustration at being made, at Tristan's observation.

"You stare at that every night. It is hard not to see."

"I know. I'm being a bloody milksop fool." He muttered, his hands flying up.

Silence followed for a few moments. Tristan watched Lancelot pace, seeing the man's temper slowly simmer.

"No." He said finally.

"No? What do you mean, No?" Lancelot asked.

Tristan turned his head sideways and pursed his lips. "No, you aren't being a bloody milksop fool, whatever that is."

Lancelot shook his head and laughed. "I am. I torture myself with this... this stupidity."

Tristan sighed and got up from his seat. He ambled over to Sky and unsheathed his dagger to pick out the horse's hooves. As he bent over to lift the first one, he lifted his head up to look to Lancelot. Blue eyes were hard, piercing. It made Lancelot stop and look to his friend once more.

"She is worth twenty of your flings. I think you see that. Don't throw this chance away. " He shook his dagger end at Lancelot to emphasise his point.

Lancelot was stunned. What? Don't throw what away? He watched Tristan return to his task, slowly working around the horse's frog, paring off bits of excess, digging stable dirt out of the grooves. He let the hoof fall back to the ground and moved to pick up a hind. Lancelot shook out of his stupor and marched out of the stable swearing.

Tristan shook his head and held back a laugh. That man was as bull-headed as Cerys. They were perfect for each other.

Lancelot was sulking up on the inner wall when Arthur stepped up beside him.

"Looks like we have put a dent in their numbers." He said, crossing his hands behind his back, staring out to where Lancelot's gaze seemed to be concentrating. Only a hundred or so men were left, and scouts sent out, Tristan among them, had reported no more masses waiting in the wings. This was a small army, and it was indeed the thorn that had been in Octus's side up the coastline. These men milled about, most lying in the grass drinking, or slowly working on new siege en­gines. A few men had raided the local villages and they could see women now mingling with the troops. They were not leaving anytime soon.

Lancelot flicked his eyes to Arthur then back out. Great. Here it goes, he thought. The deal would be "Octus may yet still live and we have to go rescue him." Honour and all that horse ma­nure. He was tired of honour, let Octus get home on his own.

"Don't you ever tire of this?" Lancelot said peevishly as he put one boot up on the wall and leaned onto his leg. He sighed heavily and moved his tongue over his teeth, "This waiting... it's ridiculous."

"Of course... You feeling well?" Arthur asked, turning to his friend. Lancelot turned his head and they regarded each other for a moment.

"I'm fine, just restless."

Arthur nodded his head and they both looked out again towards the far bank of the bog. Arthur unclasped his hands from behind his back and looked down to them, meshing his fingers and twisting.

"Lancelot, we..."

Lancelot cut him off with a hard look. "Let me guess... We have word that Octus and a small band of men are somewhere out there…" He stabbed a finger out over the wall. "And we are going to have to fight our way out of here…" more finger stabbing in towards the compound. "and go rescue his Roman arse."

Lancelot took his foot off the wall and put both hands out over the stone. He exhaled loudly, shaking his head, his frustration evident by the muscles working hard through his jaw once more. Damn this man and his honour!

"You know me too well, don't you, old friend." He placed a hand on Lancelot's shoulder, pat­ting softly. "Yes. I have the men gathered in the stables, but we couldn't find you. Care to join us?"

Lancelot grimaced and nodded. He turned without a word and started down the stairs, but Arthur had not moved.

"Aren't you coming?"

"Yes, but... first you have to tell me what has got you as foul tempered as a bear with a bee-sting."

Lancelot ran a hand over his face. Didn't anyone see? He just wanted to be left alone, and Tris­tan, now Arthur, were poking their noses into his thoughts. Damned annoying it was. Thank the Gods they would be getting out of here. This place had made his head turn to mush, sitting and waiting in the damp.

"Nothing of consequence right now. We need to get out of this horrible, stinking, grey place, don't you agree?" He said as he turned again to continue down the stairs.

Arthur shook his head and chuckled. He followed Lancelot down the stairs towards the stable. He would find out yet just what was eating at that man, but perhaps after a day of stretching legs and sword arms on horse he would be more talkative. Truth, they all needed to get going again, sitting in a dingy, war-torn Caer was not exactly the best thing for any of the knights.

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**Dear Reader:**

I apologize for the delay in posting. I have been under the weather and just now getting back to being able to type and write without feeling horrid.

Thank you for your patience, your kindness and above all else, your continued journey with me onthe idea of writing this piece! May your thoughts be worht more than mere pebbles, and remember that no matter how deep you hide things, sometimes others can see what you least expect them to!

_Cardeia_


	19. Senses for Killing

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the character names, save my own original creations. I do not wish to be compensated for this work, nor do I wish to infringe on any copyrights held by any stakeholders of the movie King Arthur. This work is an original creation, based on the legend of King Arthur and his knights.

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**Scribe Notes:**

_Sokorra Lewis:_ I am glad I suprised you with my choice. Finally one of the men has said something, after watching them do their dance for years. Perhaps now that it is closer to the surface, Tristan feels obligated to say something to Lancelot, perhaps a verbal slap upside the head? Thank you for your words, and I send you luck with Mia and hope her adventures do come to your page well!

_Ailis-70:_ Thank you! I am feeling much better, and back to my muse. Guinevere always had spunk, but I saved it. I eluded to it earlier with her jesting to Cerys, but perhaps it came off as silly girl instead of comfortable friend. Thank you for your kinds words in your own story. When I read your final notes, it made me smile widely and laugh! I am so glad to have been able to help you reach higher! You help me too!

_LovelyHeidi:_ Thank you for taking the time to review! I am very happy you like the story thus far, and appreciate your kind words very much!

_Babaksmiles:_ Oh, that quote is perfect. And yes, moodiness and Lancelot are a match. I hope I can lighten him soon, I love it when he smiles, and the wrinkles around his eyes crease, his eyes dance, and that mouth of his grins wide. If you have ever seen Ioan in Horatio Hornblower, that smile is right there again, and its just as lovely.

_Drew'sgirl:_ I hope to! I never saw myself as one to write fan fiction, but I must say that I enjoy it immensely. Relaxing and fun to play with established characters! I am very glad you see Ioan in my Lancelot. He's really the reason I wanted to write this, I think he's an outstanding actor, and I couldn't wait to see him and describe him from my mind. If you ever get the chance, rent or watch Solomon & Gaenor. That, despite the fact that this is a King Arthur fan fiction story, is what prompted me to start writing. Thank you again for your kind words!

_Winged Seraph:_ Glad you are continuing to enjoy and here are two more chapters for you!

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**Chapter 19: _Senses for Killing_**

The horses snorted quietly in the evening air, tendrils of their breath snaking up to hang over noses and heads. The knights were in full battle armour, jingling softly as the horses shifted with the tension apparent around them. No one spoke, no barbs were thrown, no jesting started.

The knights were riding out to kill, each of them sober with the thought. Gawain, mouth silently moving, praying to his Gods, Galahad staring into nothingness, his face blank. Perceval tapping his fingers on his saddle and twitching his feet in the stirrups, eyes closed. Tristan quietly wait­ing, Bors humming. Each distinct pattern to prepare before battle. One common element, heart­beats pounding, thoughts hard with the task ahead of them.

Lancelot's bones were singing, his blood coursing through his veins in waves of hot. His mus­cles jumped to move, to swing sword, to do what it was trained so well to do. It was all he could do to hold Klyndd back, the horse dancing sideways, bobbing his head, shaking at the hold Lancelot had on his mouth. He felt as if he was a bowstring strung too tightly, and he would snap at any moment! He looked to Arthur, who had his sword out, held ready, eyes darting this way and that, hand re-gripping reins in time to Meritus' pawing. Arthur nodded towards the doormen.

They would ride out through the mess, followed close behind by their own men. Everything was ready, and the muffled sounds of shifting feet of the footsoldiers behind the knights felt a mile away to Lancelot, his mind tuned to his horse, his sight focused on the doors, his hearing sharp to his companion's breathing and his own racing heart. Sweet bliss and terror mixed together to form anticipation for battle, and it was a feeling he hated and loved equally.

The doors they stood behind creaked open slowly. Bodies of dead Saxons, arrows, and the re­mains of the battering ram looked back at them on the narrow causeway. The horses snorted at the stench of death, their muscles tensing under their riders, necks arched to snatch at bits and tight reins. Lancelot put a hand to Klyndd's crest to soothe him quietly, and the big bay horse shook his mane, humped his back slightly and pawed.

"Get on with you, you've seen this before." Lancelot hissed through his teeth, reaching his hand to the horse's ear and tweaking it. The horse huffed out his sides with a large breath, and relaxed. Lancelot then checked his girths and tightened them.

"They don't even pick up their dead." Muttered Bors under his breath. Heads shook around him as last minute adjustments were made to tack and weapon.

Arthur, at the head of the group, turned slowly. "Alright knights, quietly now."

And they filed out onto the causeway. Lancelot felt a breeze hit his face as he left the confines of the fort, and the waft of decaying flesh and burnt wood hit him. He forced his teeth together and clamped his right hand firmly on the blade he had now drawn. He was never so glad to be gone from a place, even if it meant wading through this mess. He felt quickly to his cuirass, and peeking out the top was Cerys' linen roll, now slightly greyed from the wear he had given it. He stuffed it down further, and the mint smell came back from the now well worn and crushed leaves. The whole roll now held the aroma of the herb, and Lancelot was, at that moment, very glad for it.

Once across, they could see the Saxon encampment not far off. They regrouped and spread out.

In the twilight, Arthur's sword glinted as he cut it forward and down, and they spurred forward. They had been warned not to make any battle cries until spotted, the element of surprise would be their best weapon. It was all any of them could do to keep their tongues clamped in their mouths as horses jumped out underneath rider, and blood boiled with the start of their attack.

As they galloped, he could hear music and laughter, and the silhouettes of men dancing around a fire came into view. The thundering of the hooves made them turn in unison, and as Lancelot swung his sword, he heard first Bors, then Perceval let out a cry.

He could see the whites of their eyes, could hear each foreign word of startlement as he barrelled towards the first Saxon in his path. His heart, in time with his horses galloping hooves, sped at the anticipation of blade to flesh. Instinct, long honed, took over.

"RUAHHHH" He yelled as blade connected with bone, and a spray of blood upwards signified that he had indeed hit his mark. He swung again as the next man came into range, this time shearing an ear. The blade caught the man's long blonde locks as well, and ear and hair flipped it up behind him as he rode on. He listened for the body to thump as it hit the ground.

He could hear the other knights now, yelling and shouting cries of their own, screams from Sax­ons punctuating them. He could see Arthur's work littering the ground just to his right, the large sword he carried cutting deeply into more than a few skulls. Arthur was swinging back and forth, hacking and slashing like a haymaker, just ahead. Beside him Gawain was beating in more heads with his cudgel.

He saw more men headed towards him. They would have had time to gather weapons by now.

It was almost time to unhorse. He looked to Bors who had dismounted and was now punching his way through a group of men with his blades, swearing with each stride and swing forward. A huge smile across his face, he turned to Lancelot and stuck his tongue out as he clefted a large dark haired man without even looking. Lancelot grunted and shook his head, turning back to his own defence, his own battle.

He jumped lightly off Klyndd, and landed behind Tristan, who had done the same. They looked to each other briefly, and Tristan stood and sheared an approaching man in two, his sword slid­ing silently through the man's bare torso in one fluid motion. Lancelot turned to the left, and drew his second sword. Ahh... his shoulders knew the movements themselves, he did not even need to guide them with thought. This dance, it was his now.

They fought back to back for a few moments, grunts and battle sounds echoing around them. Lancelot stopped counting the kills, he just jabbed forward and swung, parried and ducked. He was beginning to tire, his arms aching, he could feel blood and brains caked on his face and ar­mour. They must be through the lot of them by now? The dance was now steps for survival.

He could hear the footsoldiers had joined the fray and their sound make it seem as though the knights had been fighting in silence. The roar of man versus man came alive and rang through the night air like thunder. Metal on metal, shield on armour drowned out the rhythm he had. Now it was butchery. The dance was gone.

Then, almost as suddenly, the sounds of metal on metal started dieing, the grunts of killing slow­ing, replaced with the moans of injured and dieing men. He looked up and most of their men were standing now, weapons ready. There were none left to bring down. His heart slowed, his muscles stilled. It was done. He sagged.

Moments passed as he watched the scene around him. Had he done this? It was another person in his armour that had killed these men. He felt worlds away from that man right then, and wished it could stay that way. His mind turned to his own hands and he looked down to them, still holding swords, coated with blood, the knuckles bent hard around hilt. He had fought well.

He turned his head to search for friends. He counted... all stood. Normal breathing returned, nor­mal man revived.

Galahad was standing away from the group, a young girl under his sword, the tip pointed to her face. She held a small throwing axe, her chest heaving up and down with each laboured breath. Her eyes threw hatred to him, and his confused gaze back gave Lancelot his movement. He walked over to the young knight.

"She, she was going to attack me... but... I can't kill a woman... Lancelot... I can't!" He said through rasping breath, turning to Lancelot, eyes showing torment at his dilemma.

Arthur joined them, and placed a hand to Galahad's arm.

"Leave her. Let her run."

She spat something to them in her own language and Arthur turned, his face suddenly going hard. He threw words back to her, which surprised the other two knights. Arthur had learnt to speak their language?

"What did she say?" Galahad asked, his sword tip wavering now, his face turned towards Arthur.

"She asked which one of us was going to rape her first." He said slowly. "I told her that no one would rape her, that she was free to go, as long as she did not threaten our lives on this night."

"But...I..." He halted.

Galahad dropped his sword from her face and she scooted backwards with her hands. The men backed off, Lancelot retreating to the rest of the knights who had joined them, horses in tow.

She slowly got up, her eyes never leaving his face. Her breathing still ragged from the struggle, she stood a moment with her axe held rigid, obvious painful thoughts in her mind. She licked her lips and flung hair out of her eyes.

Galahad turned his back to take his horse from Perceval, a defeated look in his eyes, the tired­ness showing. His shoulders slumped, his short sword held low. Of all the knights, Galahad hat­ed killing, hated fighting. But, like all the knights, he knew he was good at it, and he lent himself to this cause with Arthur the only way he knew how. With sword and skill to take life in battle. Lancelot watched him closely, and flicked a glance to Gawain. Gawain's face was yet unread­able, his eyes watching the girl, one hand on his horse, the other on the hilt of his own throwing axe, ready.

Before any of the men could react, the woman threw her axe at Galahad, and it dug itself into his shoulder. With a look of surprise, he fell to the ground , his arms splayed out, the axe caught in the armour, fresh blood oozing out between rings in the mail shortcoat he wore.

An arrow protruded out of her forehead not two moments later. Tristan's bowstring still vibrat­ing back from the force. She crumpled like an empty sack, dead before she fully made contact with the ground.

Gawain made it to Galahad first, dropping to his knees, his helmet flying off as he placed his hands around the axe blade to stop the bleeding.

"Get cloth, get Jols, Dammit! Galahad..." He screamed.

Lancelot looked to Tristan, who was still holding his bow aloft, his blue eyes hard, glittering, his face set in stone.

"Friend, it couldn't be helped. It was either her or another of us." He said as he came to Tristan's side.

Tristan lowered the bow and blinked. He looked quickly to Lancelot, nodded and turned on his heel for his horse. Lancelot looked to the girl one more time and turned away. Her mistake had been to fight back, to be afraid of them. He shook his head sadly. Thank the Gods it had not been Gawain to kill her. He needed no more fuel for nightmares.

He sheathed both his swords and slowly walked to where Galahad was now awake and scream­ing. Bors was ready to pull the axeblade out, and Perceval and Gawain were sitting on him. He yanked up with one quick motion, and Galahad roared to life, shaking off the other two men and attempting to deck Bors. Bors threw the axe away and forced him down to sitting.

"You can belt me later boy, once we are drunk." He growled as Galahad slumped again, the shock of the ripping blade gone.

They gathered around, Gawain putting pressure on the wound. Bors and Perceval stripped Gala­had's metal armour off of him to get at the wound.

Perceval slowly peeled back the arming doublet, neatly cut in two from the axe blade, and let out a huge sigh of relief and a smile mirroring it.

'I see no bone. It's a muscle wound only." He said as Gawain lifted the pressure for him to peer at it.

Galahad, face white and gripping Gawain's free arm hard, hissed as Perceval ripped the last lay­er, his battle tunic, opening it more to properly expose the wound.

"Sorry Brother, we will get you a new doublet for the winter solstice."

Galahad gave his older brother a look that made Lancelot laugh despite the situation. He knelt down beside Gawain and peered into Galahad's face. Galahad looked to him and grimaced as Perceval further probed the wound.

"Is she dead?"

Lancelot nodded. Galahad would know that she would have been brought down moments after she loosed her axe from her hand. He closed his eyes, squeezed them and then shook his head hard.

"Damn stupid cow! We gave her freedom!" He cried. "I tried... I..."

Gawain shushed him and Lancelot stood and went to Arthur, who was now organizing the troops to camp for the night just outside the battlefield. He was pacing to and fro, pointing to various captains, gesturing this way and that, his helmet dangling in his other hand. He pointed towards Galahad and the knights as Jols ran past with a wineskin, cloth and what looked to be needle and thread. Lancelot patted his breastbone, where he could feel his roll. For some reason, it brought him comfort just to know it was there. Of all the things to be thinking about after a battle, and he was thinking of her. This new feeling had changed him, and he wasn't sure if he liked it or not.

He ran a hand down his arm, and held it to his body a moment, gripping the elbow guard. He looked to a dead Saxon at his feet, the man's throat slashed cleanly. He tried to identify who would have killed the man, but found he could not immediately do so. Tristan's blade would have severed the head; Galahad would only thrust into a man... Perceval? Ahh... Bors, with a side cut. That must be it. He scoffed at himself for thinking such trivial thoughts of death and joined Arthur to clear his thoughts of the battle and focus on tasks.

"Is he going to be alright?" Arthur asked as he walked up. Lancelot nodded and removed his own helmet, relief from the sweat dripping into his eyes immediate. He mopped his brow with exposed sleeve and sighed.

"A flesh wound. Deep, but no bone or tendons involved." He replied.

Arthur put a hand to his shoulder and Lancelot to his. They stood for a moment, arms out to each other, each covered in blood, each too tired to be still standing without the support of the other. They watched the activity around them a moment more, Arthur shifting weight from one leg to the other, both equally tired.

"Good battle. Damn shame about the girl."

"Yes."

"I need a drink." Lancelot said tiredly. "When did you learn to speak Saxon?"

"Wasn't Saxon. She was a Celt, she was a slave."

"Oh."

More silence followed as they watched more. They had lost very few footmen, maybe twenty. The rest of the men were out now, picking them out of the littered ground, carrying them away for burial. Praetus had ventured out and was organizing the scavenging party. Lancelot hated it, but waste not want not! There would be many good weapons littering the ground, good ar­mour, maybe even food and supplies. Food, the Caer definitely needed.

"I need a bath."

Arthur and Lancelot both laughed at that, and turned away from the scene to retrieve their hors­es. It would be a longer night still if they didn't get Galahad to camp and get out of their armour. Tomorrow they marched for Dewyr, and Octus.

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**Dear Reader:**

Battle is intimate, just as is dance and making love. Each knight feels it differently, sees it differently. Lancelot turns into another being when he fights. I hope I portrayed the "sense" of battle well, it was an interesting chapter to write without making too much of it "action A,action B" sounding. I wanted to show that there are senses involved in killing in heat of battle.

Onward and upward to the next chapter, which is more of the knights. I promise soon to peek in onCerys!

_Cardeia_


	20. Quiet Rescue

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the character names, save my own original creations. I do not wish to be compensated for this work, nor do I wish to infringe on any copyrights held by any stakeholders of the movie King Arthur. This work is an original creation, based on the legend of King Arthur and his knights.

* * *

**Chapter 20: _Quiet Rescue_**

They had been riding for a week. The ground had frozen and the snow was starting. Slush and mud made them slip during the day; hard ground was their bed at night. Lancelot was not sure which was worse. Rain or frozen ground.

He turned his torso and popped his back in the saddle, still undecided after yet another poor nights sleep. Damn this weather, he wished he could do as Bors did, and sleep in the saddle, Raven plodding along behind Apollo, nose to tail. He could never sleep while riding, had never been able to turn off his senses that much.

During the day as they rode, Lancelot had found his thoughts constantly to Cerys and home. It would be good to just spend the winter holed up there, drinking, gambling, resting. He was tired. More tired than usual. He found himself yearning for her touch, and the warmth of her smile. He had long given up trying to push the thoughts away, but was not sure what to do about them when he returned home. He knew he was in love with her, that he was certain of now. He just didn't know if he could handle her rejection. Her backing away from him in the baths played through his mind again and again. He could see her eyes, scared and uncertain. She wouldn't want an animal like him; she had made that clear then.

He had wished to be home before snow. That wouldn't be possible now.

Most days the time was passed with idle conversation, scouting ahead with Tristan, and barely sleeping amidst Gawain's screams at night and the carousing of the footsoldiers. Despite the fact that their supplies ran low, the men always seemed to have ale to drink. Where had they gotten more? Lancelot thought the supplies drained at the Caer. He decided not to partake. If anything it would only give him a sour belly. He preferred wine, and there was none of that to be found anywhere.

Tristan had been even quieter since he had killed the slave girl, more removed from the other men. Arthur mentioned after they had been out for about two days that Tristan had gone back and burnt her body in the traditional manner of her people, and theirs, for that matter. It had surprised Lancelot that he would have done that. He was the coldest of any of them when it came to death and killing. He killed with a mechanical demeanour that made Lancelot shudder. The silence of his swings in the air, the smoothness of his sword strokes looked deliberate, like a dance set out well before the battle ever took place. Tristan never revelled in his battles; he just killed and moved on. With coldness and efficiency.

Lancelot supposed he thought her death as needless, but necessary as the rest of them did. Per­haps he too was tiring of the war, and his iron facade was breaking. He wanted to ask the man about it, but Tristan had never given him the chance.

Galahad had been up riding, and they had, thankfully, found no pockets of Saxons to flush out. It gave them all time to rest, and for various scrapes and bruises to heal.

On the seventh day out, they saw an approaching rider, galloping fast towards them. Bows were strung, arrows nocked. Arthur galloped to the front of the train and unsheathed his sword.

"Friendly! Friend!" The rider yelled as he approached. His hands and head were wrapped in rags to stave off cold, his Roman-like armour dented and scratched, his beard completely dishev­elled. He looked like a skeleton riding.

"Arthur?" The man exclaimed as he rode up to the knights, slowing his horse. Gawain made a sound as they could se the horse was so thin they could count ribs. The horse's breathing shook his whole body. The man too, had seen no food for days, or at least looked in the same sorry state as his horse.

"Yes. I am Arthur. Identify yourself."

"I am Hector, Octuses eldest!" He said excitedly. "You have brought supply wagons to us, fi­nally!"

Arthur clasped the man on the shoulder. "Hector, you have grown in the years. It is good to see you."

They exchanged more pleasantries, and then Arthur delivered the news to the young man. He sobered, nodded and smiled sadly to Arthur. A few moments later, Arthur motioned the group forward to ride, and they went to meet Octus and break the news to him. They were only a day's ride from Dewyr, and if Tristans memories of the land this way were still good, they were almost on top of Octuses stronghold.

"We rode all the way here to meet the man in his own home." Bors snorted.

Lancelot laughed at that. "Yes. But at least we could get a bath and a decent meal. I am getting bored with venison wrapped in sawgrass."

"Tired of my cooking?" Jols yelled from further back in line. "Maybe you'd like the job next!"

"That's what you call cooking?" Perceval snorted, a wide grin to Jols as he turned in the saddle.

Laughter peppered through the group of men on horseback. Lancelot was eager to be inside and off his horse, as they all were. The sooner they broke the news to Octus, the sooner they could turn for home. Arthur had to concede, even now, that there was no use in staying, he reassured himself.

They filed into the stronghold's entrance slowly, noticing the lack of wooden palisades, only burnt stumps where they had once stood. The blackened earth around the stronghold was evi­dence enough. The Saxons had burned their crops. All of them. Trees, wheat, barley... it was all gone. No wonder they had sent word to anywhere to bring supplies.

Octus strode out to meet them as they dismounted. Arthur and he embraced, the older gentleman dwarfed by Arthur in his armour, the Roman's traditional day armour old and worn, criss-crossed with cuts from battles. A holdback to the days before Rome left, he had stayed, just as Praetus and many others. Only Vortigern to the south was like Arthur, half Roman and half Brit­on. Except, no one trusted Vortigern.

The rest of the men organized the wagons as they came in the troops right behind. With frozen ground, it had been much easier to have the train keep pace this time out.

Lancelot stared around him. Where were the troops? Where were the people? He turned to look behind him. No guards, no people surrounding them. What had happened here?

Octus noticed his curious glances.

"They attacked early and in minutes everyone inside was dead." Octus said softly. Lancelot looked up and caught the General's eyes. There was such sadness, such grief that Lancelot was not quite sure what to say. He swallowed and nodded slowly.

"I'm... I'm sorry for your loss." He finally managed.

Octus shrugged and raised his hands. "We have nothing left here, and nowhere to go. I fear with­out the supplies promised to us by Praetus, we are not going to make the winter."

All Lancelot could do was look to Arthur, who looked back, equally worried.

Arthur gave his horses reins to Jols as he passed with Sky and Demetia. The three greys disap­peared into the stable door and Arthur watched them, then turned his attention back to Octus.

"How many men here?" He asked suddenly. He began to pace.

"Myself included, my two sons and my remaining troops, only seventy, give or take." Octus re­plied, a sigh escaping his lips with it.

Lancelot watched, as did Galahad, who had joined Lancelot with Terryn in tow.

"What's he thinking up now?" He said as they stood for a moment.

Lancelot didn't reply, but he knew exactly what Arthur was thinking. And he knew they would be leaving a few men stronger than when they arrived. He groaned and started towards the stables. Despite his honour, Arthur had a huge heart and was forever putting it into his head where it shouldn't be. This would slow them down to get home. He hoped, at that moment, that Cerys had been able to get a good harvest in.

But, in truth, there was nothing here for these men. They would be better off wintering back at the wall, even Lancelot could see that.

Arthur turned to him and took breath to speak. Lancelot stopped, and without looking back said,

"I will see how we can adjust the loads for the extra people." and then continued into the stable, his horse nudging his back, impatient for water and feed.

A surprised look from Octus and a bemused look from Arthur followed Lancelot as he entered the stable.

"Right. Let's figure out what you need to bring with you and we'l l get packed. We leave tomor­row."

Octus could only nod and embrace Arthur's arm. A tear escaped out of the corner of a wrinkled eye, a tremor of the lip. Arthur grabbed the older man's arm back and nodded, smiling.

"We'll get you home with us and come spring, you can return here to start fresh."

With that, Arthur turned and followed the last of his knights into the stable to break the news.

* * *

**Dear Reader:**

I have a confession. Jols is played by a man named Sean Gilder. Sean Gilder is also in Horatio Hornblower, one of Horatio's crew, named Stiles. In the last episode of Hornblower, Jols has to cook on the Hotspur. He's a horrible cook! Hence my inspiration for the small dialogue exchange about venison in sawgrass. I could see Stiles riding along with the men, their jabs at his cooking familiar. Don't ask me how my mind works, I have yet to figure it out myself. Inspiration comes from where it may and I take it!

My question to you, my readers: Lancelot sees Tristan as mechanical on the battlefield. I see him as removing himself from the situation, tucking his emotional man well away while doing what he is trained to do. Perhaps he was not removed so, when he killed the girl? What do you think? Could this be the first time that Tristan has "felt" a kill?

It seems only fitting that Arthur brings Octus and his men home. So, we have more comapny for the winter! It will make for a warmer hall at dinner if nothing else.

Thank you again for your time with me, and if you look inside yourself, you may also find your emotional being that you have tucked away a bit of. I know I hve! it's time to pull a hidden piece out and examine it, and let it guide my pen.

_Cardeia_


	21. News To Crow About

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the character names, save my own original creations. I do not wish to be compensated for this work, nor do I wish to infringe on any copyrights held by any stakeholders of the movie King Arthur. This work is an original creation, based on the legend of King Arthur and his knights.

* * *

**Scribe Notes:**

_Sokorra Lewis:_ He is tough to get right, I hope I can give him some softness. I noticed in the book too that the author gave him more verbal development. I wasn't sure I liked it, but then I found the book very difficult to read. Thank you for your continued support and words! i am very much looking forward to Fantastic Four. Yumm.. Ioan with grey haired temples. Oh oh.. I may have just dated myself...

_Ailis-70:_ Good introspection. I have not yet figured out how to reconcile him, working on it. Your idea fits with one bit I am working on. We will see which wins when I re-read. And yes, you will see more of Jols in the future. He is very fond of our Cerys. Thank you again! I always enjoy your reviews and words of encouragement.

_Burnt Alice:_ And your words inspire me to keep working!

_History2_: You get me.

I am so happy you liked chapter 19, I worked quite hard on that one to get the "fluidity" of it right. I liken it to a sports team who play and practice together so much that they can anticipate each others moves and thoughts. It is sad when you think about the skill in this "sport" is killing, but that was what happened then. Very brutal and ugly times.

You also think the same way I do about the final battle scene with one additional thoughtfrom me. I believe that Lancelot was intending to make up for his previous instinct ot leave her and the boy behind, as he mentioned to Guinevere when they camped. He wanted to redeem himself by saving her then! He was choosing to fight as a free man, and thus, his choice meant that he was perhaps turning over a new leaf? I was quite sad when he died. It was necessary for the story to end as it did, but... gah.

And our knights are coming home. I hope I do not disappoint in the much anticipated reunion!

_Calliann:_ Thank you! I am very happy you enjoyed the story thus far. I am enjoying it as well, this creative process is bringing me much happiness. I race home at the end of the day and want to write. It has been a long time since that has happened. i am very glad you liked the dance chapter, it is one of my favorites.

* * *

**Chapter 21: _News to Crow About_**

"Nimli! Where are the tongs? I can't find the damned tongs..."

Nimli walked over to where Cerys was rummaging through a bag of kitchen tools, searching for the elusive tongs. Nimli stilled her hands, reached in, and pulled them out.

"Thank you." Cerys huffed, turning back to the ovens and flipping hair out of her face, tongs grasped in her right hand.

Despite the cold, the kitchens were warm as the women worked on boiling and salting meat for winter. They would wrap the cuts well, and put them into a walled hole where the meat would cure and provide a good dry snack for mid day meals come the deep of winter. It was the easiest way to keep it from going bad, and having to slaughter large animals in the cold. That was not a fun task in any way. No one liked having blood freeze in a cow before it was bled, and having to warm it up inside, where the smell would make even strong men gag. Cerys hated the smell on a good warm day, so to her, this was an enjoyable task.

The women worked away with idle chatter and laughter. Cerys slowly transferring boiled meat into the salt trays, Nimli rolling them in the salt, then plunging them into a light brine to cure and cool. Hissing sounds of meat boiling and then cooling punctuated each movement the wom­en made as they moved through their tasks.

Brinn wandered into the kitchens and stole a piece of freshly boiled meat from Nimli, who winked and ruffled his hair. He tore chunks off with his teeth as he watched Cerys struggle to lift a large pot with one hand, her left still lightly bandaged and not quite able to withstand pres­sure yet. Nimli, turned away, did not see her drop it twice, each time the side slipping from her grasp to land on the ground. Brinn did not help her, but seemed to want to have her do it on her own. She would have gotten mad if he had tried to help her anyways.

"Cerys, should you be doing that?" Nimli admonished as she turned and saw Cerys' struggle. She took the pot and gave her a hard look.

Cerys handed the pot off without word and looked frustrated. Brinn tugged at her sleeve. She looked over and smiled despite her seeming foul mood.

"Well hello! What are you doing in here? Stealing more food?" She swiped at his ear and he ducked, laughing.

"Come for a walk, I am done my chores." He said, pulling again at her sleeve.

She yelled that she was leaving, grabbing her cloak from the pegs by the door. Nimli waved a hand to indicate she had heard her. Rank did have its privileges to shirk duties, Cerys thought as she walked out into the colder air. Funny, how only recently she would not have stopped her tasks to walk, and rest. This new Cerys was different, and she wasn't quite sure if she liked it yet or not.

She wanted to be useful, and to her, useful was maximizing the time she spent getting jobs done. However, the forced rest had been quite lovely, and she was beginning to enjoy it.

Snow was beginning to swirl about in the air. She wrapped her cloak up around her shoulders and hooked her arm in her young companions. It was nice to be able to take the time to spend with him just this moment. She had been trying not to think too hard these past few days, but the repetitive tasks had made it all the harder.

The knights had been gone well over a month now, with no word. Every day, she expected to hear them pound in through the gates, the usual excitement of their homecoming. Despite her new calmness, she still stood on the battlements from sunset until dark each night, waiting.

"Do you think they will be home soon?" Brinn asked as they mounted the steps to the top of the wall.

Cerys shrugged and looked out over the landscape. She could make out the road, a muddy strip bordered by snow, horses and men travelling along its length churning the wet and earth togeth­er. She felt sad at that point. If they were gone much longer, they would miss winter solstice.

"I don't know Brinn. I would wish for them to be home now." Oh how she wished every night as she stared out over these walls. For even just a message, news.

He stopped and they looked south together. A crow in a tree made his complaints clear to the air, his voice carrying in the crispness. She watched as he hopped from branch to branch, fluff­ing his feathers out each time. She thought of how Tristan would sit and watch that bird if he was there and she knew that by its actions, it would be a warmer night tonight. Otherwise he would be nested in a crook, quiet and preening to coat his feathers with oil from his skin, to stay warm. Crows were such smart birds, Cerys thought suddenly.

She pointed to the bird, and explained the behaviour to Brinn, who nodded and turned his head to watch the crow. They both laughed at the crow's antics, and Brinn said he thought the shiny black feathers reminded him of Lancelot's riding armour; the black-hammered shoulder plates gleaming after Brinn would polish them.

Cerys, thought to herself that it reminded her of Arthur's black hair, shiny and soft after a trip to the baths. She dropped her gaze to Brinn, still watching the crow. He would have that same black shiny hair, although straight as a pin. He was already imitating some of the knights with braids to keep it held back from his face. The style suited him. A lock falling out of his braids and into his face reminded her also of a young Perceval, before he learned to tame his thick brown hair. She refrained from brushing it out of his eyes, not wanting to embarrass him. In­stead, she gave his arm a squeeze, and smiled as he looked quickly to her.

Cerys thought she heard hoof beats to her right. She turned the other way, and Brinn broke her grasp and he too looked further down the wall, along the main road. He leaned out over the wall to peer into the twilight, squinting to see further.

"Hoofbeats?"

He nodded. She had heard hoofbeats! Her heart leapt for just a moment, but stilled as one rider came into focus, galloping towards the gate. A messenger? Perhaps he had news of the men!

He seemed in a hurry, riding madly, earth clods flying up from the horse's hooves, confirming her notion more. Cerys ran along the top of the battlements towards the doors to the fortress, Brinn beside her.

"Open the gates! Rider approaching!" She screamed to the guards standing just beyond them. They swung into action and pulled the levers that would open the doors.

The horse and rider streamed in past them. From the top of the wall, she watched him expertly dodge his way along to the inner compound doors, then slide to a stop once inside.

Cerys reached horse and rider as they dismounted.

"Rider! What news?" She yelled as she lifted her skirts to run. Her thoughts were a jumble. She heard more footsteps behind her, and Guinevere was now running up behind her, her own skirts held high to gain speed towards their new arrival. Word travels fast here, Cerys thought.

"Brinn, please see to this man's horse." Guinevere gasped as she too reached the grouping, the running bringing her breath short. Brinn grasped the puffing horse and began the slow walk to the stables. The horse would need considerable cooling before he could be watered or fed. Cerys made mental note to leave her door unlocked from him in case he was late home.

The man unwrapped the cloth around his head and Cerys recognized Ganis. Ganis! Sweet Ganis! Oh Gods be praised! The men were close and coming home! Her knights, her Lancelot would be here soon! She must not cry, she must not lose her grip on her emotions...

She lost her composure completely.

"Ganis!" She shrieked and wrapped her arms about him. He glanced to Guinevere with a startled look, and she shrugged, a wide smile lighting her face. He carefully wrapped his arms about her, giving her a quick squeeze.

"M'lady, if all women were t'greet me likeways, I should 'fink I would do well to leave more often." He said as she detached herself and smoothed out her cloak again.

My goodness, what had come over her? she blushed slightly and cleared her throat.

Cerys smiled. "Come, you must be cold and hungry. Let's go to the kitchens. What news? Please Gods tell me our men are on their way home!"

They walked quickly, Ganis filling her in on the adventure of getting to the Caer and finding the place desolate, then marching to rescue Octus in his own home. Guinevere shook her head as Ganis told them how Arthur made the decision to have all of the men from Octuse's army join them at the fortress for the winter.

"My husband is going to pack this place full if we let him." She shook her head. "But it is so like him to not leave a man behind." Cerys made noise to agree with her. That man and his hon­our, she chuckled to herself.

The kitchen girls all crowded around Ganis as he sat and drank deeply from a ladel of water and then tore into a piece of boiled meat. They peppered him with questions, each asking after a dif­ferent man. The dark-haired girl that had been Galahad's fancy of late hung back, biting her lip. Cerys motioned her forward.

"You want to ask after Galahad?" She asked quietly as the girl reached her side.

"Yes m'lady."

"Please, call me Cerys. I don't know if I have ever heard your name."

"They call me Dory." She said quietly, looking to the floor.

"Ganis?" She raised her voice into the fray. He looked up and the crowd silenced.

"How fare our knights?" She said, her eyes meeting his. She was afraid to ask this question, but for the sake of her women, and now Dory, she thought it best to get it out of the way. All eyes turned to him, and the crowd held breath. Boiling pots and popping wood were the only sounds for a few heartbeats as they waited for his response.

"All fine. Galahad was injured by an axe throw, but 'es recovered enough t'ride."

Cerys could feel Dory relax beside her, and she too felt relief flooding everyone as the tension eased again. She smiled to the girl, who blinked back tears, turned and left. The other women nodded and they slowly returned to their tasks. Ganis ducked kisses and pinched cheeks for a few moments more before he was let to eat and drink in peace.

Lorina arrived and she too sat, and the now smaller group heard the story anew for her ears. She seemed very relieved that Bors was well with only minor wounds.

"I suppose he has a fresh new batch of scars for me to count." She laughed. "My lover..." and she sobered, covering her hand with her mouth, elbows resting on the table, her eyes closed at her relief. Cerys sat beside her, an arm going around her shoulders.

"I think we are all glad for the news." Guinevere said suddenly, rising from her seat. She walked behind a stack of barrels, and pulled out a flask. Nimli brought cups, and they all toasted quietly and talked for a few moments.

"How much time before they arrive?" Cerys asked, pulling out a tally stick. They would need to clear out the old barracks and transfer some of the stores out into the second storeroom for seventy men to have beds to sleep. How would they find that many beds? She looked to another tally stick as Ganis watched her with interest.

"A day. I was bid ride hard t'get here and give you time t'fix lodgin's."

Cerys, nodded. "How many horses?"

He thought a moment. "Maybe five."

Guinevere's face showed confusion and she looked to Lorina, who furrowed her brow.

"Only five, for seventy men?" Guinevere asked, pouring Ganises cup full again.

"There were no food, and they had t'feed the men somehow." He said soberly, looking into his cup. The women sat silently at that, each understanding how hard that would be for any man to do. Needs must, so they say, Cerys thought grimly.

She got up from her seat, her mind a whirl with tasks to do. She would need to find quarters for Octus and his family, and bring up more flour. Wine... how many casks did they have? She pulled out another tally and counted notches. Damn, not many. It would have to be rationed, and watered down this winter. She made yet another mental note on top of the many already there to spirit away a few flasks for herself and the knights to share when it became more water than wine. Someone asked her a question, and she made a noise to answer it, not looking up.

"Cerys?" a closer voice brought her out of her thoughts.

She blinked to Nimli holding her cloak. She had not realized she was close to the door, and smiled as she took it from the woman's outstretched arm.

'Thank you Nimli. I should go inform Hywel and the men that we will have a full house by to­morrow eve."

The women nodded from their seats in the kitchen, and Cerys raised the hood on her cloak over her hair as she stepped out into the darkness. Tomorrow her knights would be home! Tomorrow she would have her family about her again.

She laughed as she kicked up her heels and strode for the blacksmith shop to bring the good tid­ings to the men.

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

The next morning, Brinn found Cerys asleep over her tally sticks in the hall, her hand still around one, hair dishevelled and cloak spread out behind her on the cushions.

Brinn had come home late to find her not there, and being up all night himself, he went looking for her. The horse Ganis had brought in was winded for a full hour, so he had walked for most of the night to make sure it didn't seize its muscles. Some of the other stable hands had come in for morning shift before he was done with the poor beast. They had the gelding on strict watch, in case it colicked or seized yet. Ganis had ridden hard for quite a long distance to get to the fort in time to bring them news, it was a wonder he didn't lame the horse as well. Brinn had assumed that some soreness would come up inevitably, the horse's hooves were a brittle mass of cracks and chips.

Ganis was a good man, and Brinn was having a hard time staying mad about the treatment of the horse. He promised himself that he would never ride a horse that way, when he was a knight.

Brinn had finally wandered into the hall, looking for her. There she was, her face turned towards him, her eyes closed, her face peaceful. He smiled. She was so kind to him, and he was fortunate to be in her graces. He hoped someday that he could repay her.

Brinn was old for his twelve years. He had grown up quickly, being on his own, and for that felt he shouldn't rely on anyone. But, he had come to rely on Lancelot with a job, and now Cerys for his lodging. He had decided that once he was a knight, he would let them rely on him. He would take care of them.

He sat down next to her on the cushions. She was a light sleeper, and his movements would wake her soon enough. He was always awake before her in their rooms and it roused her the moment he stepped past his curtain to leave for the stables.

One trait that Brinn possessed was patience. It was what made him so valuable around the hors­es, especially Klyndd. So he sat, cross-legged beside her, and waited.

He knew she was too young to call mother, and he had known his mother, there was no replacing her. But, he had decided that he liked her well enough to think of her in that sense. In the same breath, he was quite sure he would slip someday and call Lancelot father. He had never known his father, and Lancelot was the closest thing to ever come to it, for him. The only other man in the fort he was close to was Jols, who would cuff him if he messed up, but also give him pats on the back when he did a good job, like an uncle or big brother. Lancelot always gave him nods and "Good job". Brinn loved him, and would have walked through fire for the knight, now that he has spent time serving him well.

As he sat and waited, his thoughts turned to how Cerys was friends with the knights. He knew she was Arthur's cousin, and that she had grown up with them. She had told him countless sto­ries of them when they were training, and their battles for Rome. How each had worked and earned their freedom and now fought for Britain. That made him happy. They were all from some far away place and yet, they stayed to help his people! That was very noble, and it made him very proud.

He wondered why she had never married any of them, and he often played a guessing game at who she would love, if she had, in his head. Usually he thought about Perceval, or perhaps Tris­tan. Maybe Gawain. Lately, he had thought it would be perfect if she married Lancelot. He mild­ly wished he was older and perhaps she would marry him, but if he was to become a knight, he would need to be free while he earned his reputation, then marry some girl who would love him for his honour and strength. So marriage to Cerys was not a good idea right now.

Cerys stirred and opened her eyes, a smile coming to her lips as she met his gaze.

"Good morning Brinn." She mumbled as she sat up and rubbed her eyes.

"Good morning."

Brinn helped her stand, and she looked about her as she blinked. "Did I sleep here all night?"

Brinn nodded as he gathered up her tallies. As he handed them to her, she stretched loudly and scratched her head with her fingers. A few smackings of her lips and she took the tallies from him.

"Thank you. My goodness I did not realize I was working so late."

"I was up all night too, walking the horse." He said as they wandered out of the hall into the early morning, he leading the way to the kitchens, where a young boy's stomach would always lead him after a long night.

The morning was dawning cool and crisp. There were some clouds coming along the horizon but they looked light. It would be a mild day, thought Cerys as she looked to the back of Brinn's head as he walked ahead of her. How nice that he had found her. Had he truly been up all night? She would see to him getting a sleep in before the men got home, he would be busy late with his squire's duties. Truly she felt stiff from sleeping so awkwardly, and she felt her back mus­cles complain from their treatment. How did the men sleep there? She supposed that anywhere was comfortable when you were drunk. Men...

Her head suddenly came clear and she remembered. Gods, so much left to do! The men were due today! She quickened her pace and stepped ahead of Brinn.

"Come on boy, let's get a bite and then get working! We have a lot to do today!" She smiled and pulled a braid in teasing.

Brinn groaned and trotted along behind her towards the kitchens.

* * *

**Dear Reader:**

If wishes were horses... our knights would gallop out of dreams and intofront yards, no?

Finally, some news! I wrote this as two chapters originally, but decided to combine them, due to the next chapter, which I won't spoil for you. I have put in a "break symbol" which I have tried before in previous chapters (Chapter Ten, between the scene in the hall and in Lancelot's room where he bangs his head), but the editor on this website keeps removing them. I hope that if it is removed that it is not confusing. Please tell me if so!

I hope you enjoy the next chapter, I know it is anticipated! Thank you, dear readers, for your enthusiasm. Your reviews and encouragement are wonderful fuel for my creative fires!

_Cardeia_


	22. Galloping and Laughing

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the character names, save my own original creations. I do not wish to be compensated for this work, nor do I wish to infringe on any copyrights held by any stakeholders of the movie King Arthur. This work is an original creation, based on the legend of King Arthur and his knights.

* * *

**Chapter 22: _Galloping and Laughing_**

The terrain was becoming more familiar, and it was lightening everyone's mood considerably. Lancelot felt the excitement of the men around him as they neared home. It had been a full day's ride from their last camp, and it was late afternoon, but they would be to the fort before nightfall. The wagons, slightly behind, would come in just after dark if all went well.

He was never so glad to be home. He could not wait to get off Klyndd, greet Brinn and then get into the hot baths and soak for eternity. He knew that view was shared by most of the knights around him. Hot baths and good drink would be the order. Many good drinks, perhaps.

"I am going to drink myself stupid this night." Bors suddenly proclaimed as they rode along, breaking a stretch of silence.

"It takes drinking to do that?" Gawain asked, twisting in the saddle to regard his companion.

Bors shot him a look, with his face half twisted in a smile, knowing full well he walked into the barb. "You bugger." He laughed.

The rest of the group joined the laughter and they picked up their pace again at Arthur's signal, the horses rested well enough to canter the remainder of the way home. Lancelot pulled up be­side his friend and they looked to each other as their horses matched strides.

"Guinevere will be beside herself, with Ganis having brought word ahead." He mused. "But she will have had time to clean up our rooms twice fold. She throws books at the wall when I am away."

Lancelot laughed at that "And I suppose Cerys has worked herself to the bone to prepare, and the empty barracks will be a palace for our new guests." He added, his hand gesturing.

"I just hope she has taken a few moments to rest. I am sure the harvest was not easy. She works herself too hard sometimes."

"I know."

They rounded a corner and the fort came into view. Galahad, feeling much improved, whooped loudly and spurred his Terryn forward, Gawain right behind him with Demetia, thundering off. Perceval gave a yell of surprise and he too joined the mad dash, mud churning up behind Apol­lo's heels as he passed Arthur and Lancelot.

"Come on then! Let's ride!" He yelled as he passed them.

"Well, Meritus will only fret if you hold him back, you know." Lancelot said, his eyebrows wig­gling, his smile from ear to ear, Klyndd shaking his arms as he rooted at his bit.

"I should think Klyndd would throw you off if you did not join them." Arthur responded, his smile matching Lancelot's, Meritus pawing and bouncing.

They each let out their own yells and sped forward towards the group, now a bit spread out on the road, Tristan and Bors behind them in hot pursuit, their own horses determined not to be left by their companions. As they neared the gate, each pulled up and threaded through, one by one. Lancelot pulled Klyndd to a slow trot as the others bunched together again, and they made their way through the alley towards the inner compound.

"Home!" Galahad yelled happily to the sky, "We are home!"

Perceval laughed out loud, bent over and kissed his horse's neck. Gawain clasped his brother's good shoulder, patting it as he smiled and looked about. Arthur beamed outwardly. Children fol­lowed the group along, yelling and laughing, their play swords clacking behind them. Women and men greeted the knights with hails and excitement. They had been gone too long.

Even Tristan showed relief, slowly showing a smile at the joy of being home again after so long on the road, his body relaxed in his saddle, his hands crossed over the pommel. Lancelot slapped his back as he passed him, Tristan nodding his head as their eyes met.

"It is good." He said. From his shoulder, Isaac let a soft twitter escape, and shook out his feath­ers. He could smell home as well, and agreed with his master.

Lancelot realized that this was the first time he had truly and deeply missed this place. He won­dered how much of that had to do with the scent of mint still emanating from the roll of linen behind his armour, and Cerys. He was looking forward to seeing her. He knew she would be happy to see everyone again too, and how tired she would be. He tried not to picture her in his mind; he waited to see her in the flesh. He suddenly felt excited, and it was strange. He was nev­er excited, like this at least, to see her before. This love, it was a strange beast, and he was still not sure what to do about it.

They made their way through the alleyways and into the inner compound. The stable men came running out to grab horses as the knights dismounted. Lancelot looked for Brinn and saw the dark head bobbing its way through the throng.

A face then beamed up to him as he dismounted. Brinn had filled out in the month or so he had been gone. He looked a hand taller too. Lancelot regarded his young squire.

"Brinn! Klyndd is a bit winded, could you walk him a moment before we untack?"

Brinn nodded. He stuck out a hand and grasped Lancelot's arm, then quickly brought it back to his side, his face sheepish for the show of emotion.

"Good to see you... Sir." He said, jostled as Klyndd pushed at Brinn's pockets for bits of apple.

Lancelot smiled again and ruffled the boy's hair before turning to look through the crowd.

"And you Brinn."

Where was Cerys? She should be here with their towels by now. He couldn't see her at all. Arthur was already striding away, Guinevere attached to his arm, their eyes locked to one an­other. Bors was deluged by children, and Lorina. Lancelot raised a hand to her as she saw him, and she returned the gesture. She then pointed towards the entrance to the stable, a knowing smile coming to her face. Bors turned too and laughed to his wife, his arm going around her waist as they both turned towards where Lorina had been pointing.

Lancelot looked at her quizzically then turned. Standing, wearing the same day cloak, with the same dress as when he left, an almost empty basket of towels in her hand, was Cerys.

She was looking through the crowd herself, her lower lip between her teeth, her head bobbing as she hopped up and down in the air to see above the backs of horses.

Lancelot gazed at her a moment, his heart beat suddenly racing, his thoughts a blur. He regained his senses and walked quickly to her.

She looked up to him, a broad smile coming to her face that made him swallow hard. He was home. Gods bedamned, but he was truly home at that moment. He must not be a fool, he must keep a grip on his emotions...

He lost his composure completely.

Before she could put her basket down, he gathered her up into his arms, buried his head into her hair and swung her about. Gods she felt good in his arms. He never wanted to put her down again. He breathed in mint, the freshness making his head spin.

"Cerys." was all he could croak out as he held her tightly.

"Lancelot... Lancelot! Put me down! Please!" She laughed, her arms going around his neck, her basket forgotten as it plopped to the ground. She held him just as tightly, despite her protesting. Her breath played on his neck, her right hand threading through the hair at his nape. He groaned as softly as he could. He would come undone if he did not put her down, he could feel himself responding to her touch.

He set her to her feet and loosed her from his grasp slightly, his arms settling around her shoul­ders. He looked down to her. Her face flushed, her hair dishevelled from his impromptu em­brace. Never lovelier, he realized.

Then he noticed her hands, propped up on his shoulders.

"Cerys, what happened?" His face now questioning as he gently grabbed up her left hand and turned it over. He saw the scars across her palms, the bandages lightly covering the middle fin­gers. He looked to her right hand and noticed more scars, now pink. His finger traced a healed blister wound.

"S'from the harvest." She mumbled, her face falling. She averted her eyes and pulled her hand away tucking it to her cloak. Damn... He had not wanted to make her feel uncomfortable, and he had succeeded within moments of coming home. He sighed.

He grabbed her chin and forced her head up. Their eyes met; his showing concern. He frowned.

"Are you well? Did the harvest go smoothly?"

"Fine Lancelot, really! The harvest was wet and we all blistered from working. Yes, we got it all in, we did not lose much." She smiled again, breaking his grasp and then linking an arm through his after retrieving her basket.

He relaxed. He would get the full story later; she was with him, which was all that mattered right now. They walked through the yard, Cerys gathering up towels, and handing a fresh one to Lancelot. He wiped his face happily.

"I am in need of the baths, but I should see to Klyndd first."

Cerys nodded and she released his arm. He stopped and turned to her. His thoughts were a mass of confusion. He wanted to spout off, tell her everything, or just look at her without speaking. He wanted to take her into his arms again, hold her close, carry her away and ravage her, and tenderly hold her until he could block the rest of the world out.

But he didn't.

"Thank you for your gift. The gauze was quite useful." He said instead, willing his control.

She brightened. "Did you need the needle?"

"No, see, it is still here." He said as he pulled out the worn roll, opening it.

"You didn't use the mint!" She exclaimed, smacking his arm with her basket.

"I was supposed to use it?" He said, confused, as he looked at the roll, then folded it back into his cuirass, rubbing his arm is jest.

She nodded. "You always put fresh mint in your wine, so I sent mint with you. The wine in the casks that went with the troops wasn't spiced."

He laughed loudly then, his hand out to her shoulder, his head down and shaking. Truly, he was mad.

"I kept that mint this whole time behind my cuirass, enjoying its fragrance... and it was for my wine?" He put his other hand to his belly as he laughed harder, his eyes closed, wrinkled in mirth as he attempted to hold in his amusement of what she had just said.

She looked to him, her turn to be confused, but then she too began to giggle. "You mean you kept it to smell it? Madness, dear Sir."

He nodded. The two of them giggled together for a few moments. He wiped a tear from his eye and breathed in to calm himself.

"Alright. I must see to my horse." He said merrily, his head bobbing. He looked to her and their eyes caught. He smiled to her then, a soft smile, as she wrinkled her nose in mirth at him, her eyes softly wrinkling as well. His chest swelled. Her smile gave him such comfort.

Without thinking, he put a hand to her cheek, bent, and kissed her lightly on the lips. Her eyes went wide for just a moment, locked with his. He broke away before he was tempted to deepen it, and scare her once again.

"I will see you at dinner, and we will both put mint into our wine to make up for my idiocy." He said, then turned and strode towards the stable, his step light.

Cerys stood a moment, her hand to her lips, a bemused and happy expression on her face before she turned to go, her step also light. Bors and Lorina had watched the whole thing, the children already running off to play again. Lorina shifted her baby on her hip and made a noise in her throat.

"We have some catching up to do, lover. Quite a bit has happened since you went off to be he­roes." She said.

Bors pursed his lips, his eyebrow raised to her. "I suppose so eh? Perhaps you can tell me over a drink. I am dieing of thirst."

Lorina laughed at that, hooked her free arm through her husbands, and they made their way to their rooms, eyes to each other, smiles wide.

* * *

**Dear Reader:**

The first homecoming was met by Cerys, this time I thought it would be fun to see how the knights fared. Did I show enthusiasm well?

I hope that the reunion between our pair went well, and that I did not disappoint. Intimacy is not easy to write, and I have much more exciting plans for them coming soon, I promise.

I should also warn you, my readers, that in future chapters, I may put more "description" of such intimacy into the situations. Please let me know if my rating of M is not strong enough. I would not want to offend anyone with more adult descriptions and language.

Again, thank you. May your own reunions be as sweet with laughter and unexpected kisses!

_Cardeia_


	23. King's Confidantes

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the character names, save my own original creations. I do not wish to be compensated for this work, nor do I wish to infringe on any copyrights held by any stakeholders of the movie King Arthur. This work is an original creation, based on the legend of King Arthur and his knights.

* * *

**Scribe Notes:**

_Calliann:_ You bet, he is a sweet boy, and very thankful. I am glad you like him! He really reminds Cerys of someone, and that endears him even more to her. Here is your update, thank you so much for your enthusiasm for chapter 22! I was unsure of how to play out their meeting, and I rewrote it three different ways. The posted chapter obviously won, but... I have some backups in my pocket for future ideas. The joys of creativity!

_Sokorra Lewis:_ Your excitement for my story humbles me. You make me happy when you tell me how much you like my words. Star Wars is good, but the actor who playsAnakin, I find him rather dull. I will of course go see it in theatres. I do love Ewan MacGregor. Rowr...

_LovelyHeidi:_ Mint in wine is very nice, I like it in Sangria too! Back then, wine was rather harsh and potent, not like our lovely "art creations in a bottle" today. If you ever get a chance, try mulled wine with some spices. It's delicious! I am glad you like Brinn. He is an integral part of Cerys' life now. Thank you again for your kind words of encouragement!

_Ailis-70:_ I loved Ganises accent in the movie, he was so cockney! I had to try and bring it out in words. Wouldn't you love to get a hand on the script to see how they wrote that line he gives Arthur about his arse slapping the ground? (I think, he's got such a thick accent to catch every word) It makes me roar every time I hear it.

Galahad calls the fort home now because he has more than just a duty there. He has friends, freedom to choose, and Dory! You will understand more about this soon, I promise.

I drive an hour one way to work every day, and I also get excited when I am on the home stretch. I remember driving long distances to visit boyfriends, and being excited when I neared their home, and again when I neared my home, when I returned. Home should be a place to make you happy to be alive, as this place is for our Knights.

Their friendship is going to speed up now a bit, and I will attempt to keep my smut tasteful and exciting. You bet everyone else sees it. Isn't that always the way?

Thank you again for your wonderful reviews. Here are two chapters for you! Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 23: _King's Confidantes_**

The next few days had been utter chaos as the wagons and troops had made it home, as well as Octus and his small band. Cerys had been run off her feet fetching food, bedding, seeing to re­pair work, storing of wagons for the winter. Some of the men were injured and Dafydd was as busy tending to cuts and wounds that had festered in the long walk from Dewyr to the fort. He also treated as many blistered feet as an army could produce. The older healer spent his short breaks massaging his own back muscles from bending over footbaths to peel layers of skin off heels, dirt and gravel out of the bottoms of soles.

Cerys had assigned some of the younger boys to help the healer with more regular tasks, and Bors was lucky enough to have his own wounds bandaged by two of his children. During htose moments, Lorina and the rest of the brood would lcear out of the rooms, lest Bors' swearing reached all their ears. It was the source of much teasing from the men, for Bors.

Cerys had stopped into her rooms quickly to change into some dry woolen socks; hers soaked through from the new snow that had fallen that morning. She sat for a moment on the bed and rubbed her tired face.

Dinner that first night had been cut short by the arrival of the rest of the men, and they had not stopped their work to celebrate since. In truth, she had not even had time to speak with Arthur, or spend much time with anyone for that matter. Octus was a kind man, but he was very Roman, and he and his men had hogged the baths since they arrived, and been very demanding guests. She hoped that they would settle in to the way of life here before too long, or it would be a long winter, cheek to jowl with these extra men.

She thought on how wonderful it would be to soak in the hot baths water, to ease some of the tiredness in her muscles. At that thought, she flopped back onto her bed, her hands above her, her eyes closing. If just for a moment, it felt good to not move.

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Arthur was in his rooms with his wife, leaning back on the wall beside the bed, alternately watch­ing her sew one of his tunics and flipping through a book about aqueducts.

He was thinking of trying to build one across the small river close by so they could use the farm­land on the other side, and perhaps help to divert some irrigation into a new channel he planned to dig for their existing farmland. So much planning for next summer, he hoped that he would be able to spend time at home to over see it! Perceval had an eye for architecture; perhaps he should put him in charge of construction. Or Galahad, he could be good for motivating people. He got lost in thought for a moment, dreaming of peace and his friends being able to share it with him.

He blinked and rubbed his forehead, putting the book aside. He could not concentrate after what Guinevere had told him about Cerys and her hands anyways. The daft woman had gone and worked herself so hard that she had collapsed with hands so blistered she could not even pick up her own tally sticks! He only saw that kind of behaviour in soldiers who were battle worn and catatonic while marching. He would see bloody stumps of feet on some of them, not real­izing they were walking on raw flesh, their sandals long since worn away. They truly stopped feeling, their spirits giving up after long battle and long walking, their goal of home or their death the only thing driving them forward.

What had she been thinking?

Guinevere's tongue stuck out, her brow furrowed as she knotted the string. Guinevere's skill was not at sewing, but she was trying to please her husband and to keep her hands busy while they rested.

"So you're saying she just collapsed?" He said, frowning.

Guinevere nodded, fingers pulling up on thread, then pushing down through the soft cloth. She pricked her finger and yelped.

"Yes... the poor girl had worked herself to exhaustion, not eating, not sleeping." She said, finger in mouth. She pulled it out and continued her line of stitches, knotting the string once more. She sighed in frustration and put the tunic aside, brushing hair out of her face.

Arthur shook his head and sighed also, his hands steepling and pressing to his lips. "What am I to do with her? She tries to run this place single-handedly; she is so stubborn I can't reason with her. I need her but..."

"Arthur, she nearly died. It is no longer a matter of her being stubborn."

His head came up with that statement and he met his wife's eyes, alarmed.

"Died?"

"Yes. If we hadn't gotten to her hands to stop infection, and given her willow bark to ease her fever, another day and her hands would have been septic."

He swallowed hard, moving his eyes from his wife to the window in their rooms. Dead.

His cousin. She was his only blood family left. He could feel a lump in his throat starting, and his chest tightening. He could witness countless deaths by his own hand on the battlefield, yet her death made him scared beyond what any sword could. He felt a hand on his arm, and Guin­evere settled herself up on the bed beside him.

"All is well now. Since, she has been more relaxed. I think she is afraid of letting herself feel." Guinevere said, her body now cuddled against his, the heat from her warming his side.

He sighed and put an arm around her, pulling her closer onto his lap. Guinevere was such com­fort to him. He bent his forehead to her, resting it on the top of her head.

"She throws herself to work while you and the men are gone. She does so to block out her thoughts. She is afraid to let herself feel lonely and... well, afraid to let herself feel what we all feel, at least outwardly." Guinevere added, her hand coming to rest on his chest, playing with his tunic strings.

"And what is that, wife?" He asked, his eyes opening to regard her through her hair. She shifted slightly so their foreheads met, her eyes close to his.

"Helpless to know whether you will ride home triumphant, or under a cloak dressed for burial."

He grimaced at that and held her tighter. He knew how hard it was for her to watch him leave each time, not knowing. He could see the evidence of her temper with the dented covers on his books, the neatness of their rooms that she would tidy over and over again. His heart broke each time, yet he was as helpless to ease her pain as she was to stop him from leaving. He forced his own emotions down. He would speak with Cerys later.

"My books bear the brunt of your feeling then?" He said, wanting to lighten their mood. There was time later to talk on this; he wanted to enjoy his wife, to see her smile. Truthfully, her close­ness to him at that moment reminded him of how much he desired her, and how wonderful it was to have her close to him again.

She giggled under his gaze, her hands coming up to his face. "I had hoped you would not notice if I stacked them neatly."

He slowly lowered her to the bed, his elbows resting on either side of her head, his hands in her hair, stroking softly. He kissed her, their eyes never leaving one another. He moved his lips from her mouth to her neck, to her ear, breathing softly on her skin. Her hands came to his hair, tan­gling softly behind his head as she held him closer and moaned softly.

"I always notice. I do not mind." He whispered.

He looked to her eyes again, and she then reached up and kissed him. He took the invitation. It was so very good to be home.

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

A hand on Cerys' shoulder woke her with a start.

"Cousin, are you unwell?" Arthur's deep voice, soft and concerned echoed to her. She blinked and looked into his eyes, his brow furrowed in concern.

"Arthur! No, I am fine, just a rest that, I think, lasted longer than I wanted. What hour is it?" She replied, sitting up, rubbing at her eyes. The room was dark, sounds from the common echoing off walls. It was evening; she had slept for most of the afternoon!

He smiled and pulled up a footstool to sit, and gestured with his hands for her to sit as well, as she attempted to rise. Concern gave way to a smile, and he rested, his huge bulk barely fitting on his seat, his knees touching elbows. Cerys thought he looked rather funny sitting on such a small thing and she giggled.

"I can remember when you would be dwarfed by the other boys. You grew into such a big, strong man." She patted his arm, then tucked her legs under her on the bed.

He shifted on the seat and made a face to her, fully aware her comment was to that of his large frame folded on the footstool. They chatted then, a bit on the day's activity. They discussed set­ting a schedule for the baths, and how to ration the stores a bit better. Cerys had already dele­gated Guinevere and herself as key holders, to make sure that what they had would not get spread unevenly amongst the people. Arthur asked her opinion on building the aqueduct, her thoughts about Perceval being good for the job echoing his.

Cerys relaxed. It was good to have the men home, and she had missed so much these chats with her cousin. He seemed happy and relaxed this evening. She was glad for it.

"Cerys, Guinevere told me about your hands." He said suddenly, his eyes dropping to her lap, her hands resting amongst her skirts.

Cerys looked at them, wiggling the fingers. Only her middle finger on her left hand would not move, but she had feeling, so it was a matter of the tendons healing fully and she would be able to wiggle it again as well. She sobered, and folded them back to her lap.

Damn... here it would come, the lecture. She had been waiting for this, and she was thankful it was while they were alone, and not amongst company. She had already had chastisement from Bors, Perceval, Gawain... She supposed she deserved it, being so foolish, she thought. She sighed.

"Yes. I... It was a hard harvest, and we all worked much too hard." She finally said.

He nodded, and took her right hand in his, looking to her face and catching her eyes. She saw concern come back again, and he tightened his grip slightly, clearing his throat.

"You are never allowed to work yourself so hard again. When Guinevere told me of your col­lapse, and your hands being so... so hurt..." He grimaced and stopped, his throat working, his eyes looking away from her.

"Arthur?" She asked, leaning forward, her left hand going to his chin, raising it up again. She could see pain in his eyes and it made her heart lurch. "Arthur! What is it?"

Arthur blinked. Arthur was about to cry.

Cerys did not know what to do. Why was he so upset? Her hands would heal, she was able to work... She raised herself off the bed and came towards him, kneeling to be closer her cousin, her friend, her family for so long. She wished to do anything to stop his pain.

"Cerys, I cannot carry all this on my own." He croaked, his eyes suddenly watering, his hand coming out to gesture in the air. "I have my wife, I have my closest friends, I am a king, what­ever that means... but I cannot handle any of it if you are not here to guide me."

She reached both hands to his cheeks, her small fingers splaying out across the fresh stubble. She looked to his eyes once more, and she forced a small smile. They were just blisters… Nothing more. She wished she could help him understand.

"I am not going anywhere." She said, gaining conviction. "I have healed, and I will be by your side no matter what."

He covered her hands with his, and he shook his head slightly. "You mean so much to me Cerys, you are all my family. I cannot bear to lose you as I have lost so many..."

"And you will not! Arthur, you should not worry so! They are just blisters!"

"Cousin, I love you. I pray that you will be more careful. Guinevere told me that they worried for your life, you were fevered! I cannot think about burying you out in our cemetery as I have done so many others."

Cerys nodded at that. She knew that he had indeed buried so many of his fellow knights, his parents, her parents. He had seen so much death, so much needless waste of life on the battle­field. They all had. She wondered how the knights handled it sometimes. Her thoughts flitted to Gawain and his nightmares, Tristan and his silence, Lancelot and his carousing. Some of their coping abilities she did know, she supposed.

She wrapped her arms about him.

"We have all buried too many loved ones. Please... Arthur, I am fine."

She could feel his strong arms fold about her as he too dropped to his knees, bringing his large frame level with her smaller one.

Arthur's emotions broke with their embrace.

His pent up tears flowed freely, soaking her shoulder as they kneeled. Cerys rocked him slowly, her hands rubbing small circles into his back. Agan, she was reminded of him as a young boy. She remembered how she had held him when his father had died, for hours as he cried, her own tears falling softly onto the top of his shiny black hair, her own grief resonating with his. Now, his grief reached so far beyond hers, she knew he had held in so much, for so long.

Arthur rarely shed tears, rarely let himself show weakness. In that, they were so much alike. Perhaps, as she learned while she was healing, he too could learn to be more aware of his need to grieve. She thought now was not the best time to discuss, so she pushed the thought out of her head.

He broke the hug, his eyes clearing. He brushed them with his tunic sleeve, a rueful smile now playing to his lips. He sat back on his thighs and began to rise.

"I am sorry cousin."

"Sorry? For what? Arthur, you know never to apologize for needing my comfort." She said soft­ly, standing with him and straightening her skirts.

He nodded. A hand on her shoulder told her all she needed to know. Her hand came and rested on top of it.

"But you are never allowed to work yourself so hard again. Guinevere was quite adamant that I speak with you about it."

Cerys laughed at that. Guinevere or Arthur? she thought to herself.

"I have been unable to get out from under her or Lorina's ministrations since. Brinn has been my assistant in carrying things; Nimli will not let me lift... You have no worries Arthur."

He smiled at that and winked. "Then I shall let them be my eyes."

Cerys wrinkled her nose at the comment and decided to change the subject. Enough talk about injury and death. She wished to think on lighter things.

"Dinner should be started soon, and I am quite hungry. Are you as well?"

Arthur nodded and moved to open her door. She stepped towards the opening, pausing as she did so. She wrapped her arms about his waist as she loved to do, her chin resting on his chest to look upwards.

"You really have gotten much too tall you know." She giggled, squeezing.

He truly smiled then, his humour returned. He put his arm about her shoulders and they walked towards the hall arm in arm.

* * *

**Dear Reader:**

I really wanted to try a scene with Arthur's thoughts, and Cerys and Arthur dealing with her hands. I also wanted Arthur to open up a bit, Irarely see that in the other stories. He is a passionate man, but he holds it all in. The dam burst when he thought of Cerys dieing.

I hope it worked, and I was able to show the level of familiarity that Arthur has for both his wife and his cousin, both in different ways, of course. And can you not just see Clive's green eyes full of desire? Yum.

On to the next chapter, which is much less heavy, and much more fun. I promise. I was in a good mood while writing it, I hope that it shows through!

_Cardeia_


	24. A Gamble Forgiven

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the character names, save my own original creations. I do not wish to be compensated for this work, nor do I wish to infringe on any copyrights held by any stakeholders of the movie King Arthur. This work is an original creation, based on the legend of King Arthur and his knights.

* * *

**Chapter 24: _A Gamble Forgiven_**

They entered the common and heads turned to greet them. Lancelot watched them, arm in arm, Cerys smiling, Arthur looking tired, but relaxed. Guinevere got up from her seat and made her way to her husband. Cerys gave her a small hug and shook a finger to her, exchanging words in jest with the woman. Guinevere laughed and took her husband's hand.

"Arthur must've finally found out about her hands." Gawain said, cup in his own, his elbow rest­ing on the table and leaning over towards Lancelot. "Otherwise Cerys would not be teasing Guinevere so."

Lancelot nodded and made a sound from his throat in reply, taking another sip from his own goblet.

Indeed he had heard the full tale from Bors over a cup the second night they had been back. He had left afterwards in quite a dark mood and spent the next few hours pacing the battlements. he had kicked the wall, screamed at the stars... and been so utterly frustrated. All the time they were away sitting idle in that horrible Caer and she was collapsing from fatigue! He was angry with himself, angry with Arthur, angry with... well, just angry with the situation. Most of all it had scared him half out of his mind, thinking her so close to...

He would not even think it.

He had not had any time to speak with her since, her duties keeping her from socializing. In truth, he had spent much time at his own duties too. He wanted badly to speak with her, touch her again. Perhaps they could go for a walk together later. He took yet another sip of his goblet and put his chin in his hand, his eyes following her.

Galahad sauntered over. He sat, accepting a full cup from Perceval, who also joined them, sit­ting to the other side of Gawain, and they talked quietly for a few moments. Lancelot half lis­tened.

He watched Cerys move from table to table, patting shoulders, saying hellos. She gave Jols a hug from behind, rocking back and forth; his hands and eyes moving up to greet her, a kiss quickly to her cheek. She squealed and cuffed his shoulder, then plonked herself on his lap, his arm about her waist, hers over his shoulder, her head resting to his in comfortable friendship.

Lancelot got up without word and walked over to where she was, watching them play a game of walnut-shells. The gathered knights smiled behind their cups as they watched him walk away.

"look who's one the prowl again." Bors grunted, draining his cup.

"Shouldn't we do something?" Galahad asked impatiently.

Gawain snorted into his cup. "And do what brother? Succeed in enduring the wrath of cranky Lancelot, and Cerys' chore lists? I think not. Give them time to see it and all will be well."

"We may be old before anything happens, they are seemingly blind." Galahad grumbled. The table laughed.

Tristan, who had also joined the group, cleared his throat. "He is not. He wishes not to hurt her or himself."

The men looked to him and all went silent.

"He will if he keeps this denial." Perceval muttered softly. They nodded in turn, and returned to their drink.

Cerys was laughing at something one of the other men at the table had said, Jols looking on at her adoringly. Lancelot felt, suddenly, a bit jealous. He pushed it out of his head. He had no right to her... yet.

"Oh! The middle one, It's the middle one!" She exclaimed, bouncing and pointing.

Jols' grin told Lancelot that indeed it wasn't but he humoured her. "You think so?"

She nodded, and he lifted the shell. No bean.

She laughed again, as did the rest of the men. Lancelot sat in an empty space. Jols stopped and looked to Lancelot, nodding slightly towards Cerys with his head, making motion to rise and let her sit beside him. Lancelot shook his head and gestured with his hand that she was fine there on his lap.

It seemed that Tristan was not the only one who saw. Damn, he swore to himself in his head. Did everyone notice this ridiculousness?

Lancelot, care to share a game?" He said, his arm reaching out to gather in the shells once more.

"If I win, do I get to keep the prize on your lap Jols?" He said, his eyes dancing, his mouth quirk­ing in his half smile.

"I am owned by no one, dear Sir." Cerys taunted, her eyebrow lifting to mirror his tease.

"Then I shall have the first grace of ownership then." He taunted back. Ahh... There was his Cerys. Let her jest with him and tell him all was well. He needed, no... Craved her whit this evening.

She huffed and crossed her arms. "Then play. For if you lose, then perhaps I shall own you?"

Oohs echoed around the small table and Jols relaxed again. The last thing he needed was a box­ing from Lancelot over her, but she could handle herself against this joker, it seemed. He ar­ranged the shells.

"And what shall you do, being the proud owner of a knight?" Lancelot asked.

Cerys tilted her head to ponder for a moment, a finger tapping on pursed lips.

"You can be my servant for one day, and do whatever I ask. I can give Brinn the day off from being my pack-horse."

Lancelot looked at her at that moment but let it slide. Brinn? He would definitely need to ask her about that comment later.

"Alright then. A gamble it is. Jols, if you please."

Jols moved the shells about, then lifting one to place the bean underneath it, showing all where it was. Each of the men at the table put down their coins and made their bets. Lancelot did not put down a coin, neither did Cerys. Cerys winked to Lancelot, and he smiled. She was amusing him with this gamble it seemed.

Jols began moving the shells about, as the men all watched carefully. Cerys mock-yawned.

"I think I may make you do the wash, or perhaps clean my rooms?" She said, her eyes towards Lancelot, who was concentrating on Jols' hands.

"And I shall..." he halted as Jols finished his mixing.

Each man gave their guess. Jols looked to Lancelot.

"Lancelot?"

Lancelot looked to Cerys and caught her eyes. Without looking down, and a confident gleam to his eye, he said "The left one."

Cerys, without breaking his gaze, nodded. "I think it is the right."

Jols looked from one to the other. There was more than a simple bet here, and he could feel the electricity bouncing off both of them. He reached for the shells but Cerys stopped his hand.

"My dear workhorse, let Lancelot lift the right to see if he is indeed going to be my slave on the morrow."

Jols, warmed through, hearing her use his special nickname, gave her waist a squeeze. Lancelot was such a lucky man to be able to pluck this one out. He just hoped the fool did it soon, for all their sakes.

"Whatever the lady wishes." He said, pulling his hand back.

Cerys ruffled his hair from behind and giggled. The rest of the men at the table watched, silent. Lancelot picked up the right shell. Nothing.

"Ha! I win! You are mine now!" he smirked, starting to rise.

"Not so fast dear Sir." She said, reaching over and lifting the left. There was no bean under it either.

'Damn." He said as he sat, his smile widening.

One of the other men scooped up the coins and touched his forehead with his hand to the rest of the table. Everyone laughed as he slowly got up, and drunkenly tottered away, jingling his coins all the way to the bar, where Lorina put a cup and a flask. He slammed the coins on the table with flourish.

"Good coin in the belly, eh Lancelot?" Jols said, as he gathered his shells again. The gamble was breaking, the other two seeing opportunity to share in the first man's winnings. Lancelot sat, His fingers to his chin, pretending to sulk.

"Yes Jols. Good coin. Let me get you a drink then." He replied, pushing away from the table to rise.

"Nay it's alright Lancelot. I am best served to turn in now. I have an early morning tomorrow; we will be reshoeing the horses."

Lancelot nodded. "I will be by tomorrow mid-morning to help you with Klyndd. Have Hywel wait until I can get there."

Lancelot knew that unless he and Brinn were there to hold the horse, no one would get shoes near the stallion's hooves. Brinn would talk softly and hold the lead through his mouth, while Lancelot would twitch the horse's top lip with sinew. It was the only thing that worked to calm the horse, a trick learned as a boy before he was drafted to Rome. His father has called it a "sleeping rope", and it worked wonders on quite a few of the knights more temperamental horses.

Jols nodded in agreement.

"So, my Cerys, you are still wholly owned by yourself." Lancelot said, his eyes following her as she rose from her seat with Jols.

She gave Jols a quick kiss on his cheek and held out a hand to Lancelot, not bothering to respond to his jab. He took it and hand in hand they walked to the bar. Lancelot had his goblet refilled, and Cerys gladly took a full cup from one of the other women working, Galahad's dark haired girl.

"Thank you Dory." She said as she breathed in the scent of the spiced wine. Dory smiled and ducked her head in welcome.

From her pocket, she produced a sprig of mint, and popped it into Lancelot's wine, as he was looking elsewhere. He returned to his cup, and upon seeing the sprig there, put his arm around her, giving her arm a tweak at the silent tease she had just given him. Would he ever live that down? He thought to the roll, now sitting on his bedside table and chuckled. Truly, that mint had been much better served staying in the roll than in his wine. Perhaps someday he would tell her why.

They leaned against the back of the bar, both surveying the crowd and sipping slowly. Galahad walked over and spoke quietly to Dory, her cheeks blushing, as she handed him his refilled cup, their fingers touching. Lancelot nodded to Galahad as he flicked a glance to Dory, who was now busily filling another pitcher of ale for another table. The similarity dawned to him suddenly.

Ahh... So that was the reason he was so upset about the girl outside the Caer. They could have been twins. Now he understood. He patted his companion on the shoulder as he passed, a look of understanding coming between them. Galahad nodded back, his eyes sad.

"What was that about?" Cerys asked quietly in his ear.

"Nothing important. Just some male understandings." He said, giving her a smile. She raised an eyebrow, regarding him quietly.

"That's horse manure if I ever heard it, but I'll let it go for now." She said. "Tell me, what would you have done with me if you had won?"

He took another sip of his wine. Done? Gods... the thoughts ran through his mind like wildfire. He would kiss her until breathless, carry her away and make love to her in the afternoon... ride out with her in front of him on Klyndd and take her to the forest and...

He blinked and shook his head. He needed to stop those thoughts before he embarrassed himself with his reaction to them.

"Oh, perhaps made you clean my rooms, or polish my armour." He teased.

She swatted him lightly and remained where she was, under his arm. For some reason, he thought, this felt right. He turned his head to look at her. Her face was smiling, relaxed. Her hair was down this evening, instead of up in its pins. How he had thought of her hair, tumbled down as she danced while they were away. How was he ever to reconcile these feelings to her? He kept falling deeper and deeper into this feeling that would not go away. He knew soon he would have to tell her, and let her decide, no matter how it would hurt him when she said no.

The dilemma was tormenting him, and he switched his mind away from it.

"Tell me, has Brinn been helpful while I was away?" He asked, fishing for a response. He was curious as to her comment earlier. He had not seen Brinn in the stables during the day since com­ing home; scooting out as soon as he had finished his chores. Normally he hung about, or found extra work to do.

"Yes, very. I could not have gotten everything done without him." She said. "I did not know he was an orphan, Lancelot."

His brow furrowed. "I must have told you."

"No, no-one did. I found out by accident asking him about when his father would give him a sword to begin training."

Lancelot could hear the sadness in her voice. He pulled her closer to him with his arm and swirled his wine in his cup. He looked up to the sky. He wished that she had not found out that way, and it seemed that she had been troubled by the news.

"I know. I intend to ask Arthur to let me be his sponsor. He is good boy; he will be a good knight."

Cerys cleared her throat and Lancelot turned back to her.

"He is a good room mate as well." She said. Lancelot could hear her voice become hesitant. What did she say? Room mate?

"Room mate." he stated, his eyebrow cocked, trying to understand.

Cerys seemed to regain her courage. "Yes. When I discovered that he was living in the stable lofts, I had him move his things in with me. It's temporary, only until he goes into training..."

Lancelot blinked. His squire was living with the woman he loved? This was too rich. He slowly put his cup down and scratched his head with his hand.

"Lancelot, please don't be mad, it's truly been wonderful. I'm teaching him to read Latin and..."

Lancelot began to laugh. It started as a chuckle, then developed into a full-on belly laugh. He grabbed the edge of the bar, some of the gathered knights looked over to see the fuss. Lorina swatted at his hand on the bar, her own smile sharing his good mood. He winked to her. Bors shook his head from his seat behind the bar, his baby asleep in the crook of his arm. Even Arthur looked up from his seat closer to the hall, recognizing his friend's laughter.

Cerys looked about her confused. She shoved his shoulder. "Why in the name of the Gods are you bloody laughing?" She hissed. "Stop it."

"Oh Hells..." He said between chuckles "I am not mad. I am laughing at how unexpected it is. You are my sweet Cerys, and I love you for it." He grabbed her up then, his arms circling her, kissing her cheek softly.

Arthur raised his eyebrows and caught his wife's eyes. She winked to him and put a finger to her lips.

Had he just said...? Blast! He reasoned with himself. It was meant as something else, and he brushed it away. Fool... he was letting his heart rule his head; making him think things he should not, and do things he would regret.

Cerys melted into him, her arms about him now. He could feel her smile against his shoulder. He must have relieved her, knowing that he was not mad for her usurping of his squire. Truly this was unexpected, and he was laughing at the irony of the situation, of which she would not understand.

"Good." She muffled into his tunic." Both Brinn and I were worried you would be upset, not having your permission."

He suddenly wanted to be alone with her.

He grabbed up his wine and took her hand. "Come for a walk with me up on the battlements. You can tell me more about what happened while I was gone."

She nodded, and grabbed her own cup. They exited the common, the stares of five knights, a stable master, a king, aqueen, and a serving woman following them, all smiling.

* * *

**Dear Reader:**

A gamble indeed! This chapter really made me think of good times with close friends, laughter around a kitchen table and light-hearted teasing.

I give you a thought, as I sometimes do, when I am thinking. Do you have a group of friends that you can share good times with? When was the last time you were able to gather together and share each others stories, comforts and laughter? I know for me, it has been too long.

I bid your laughter is loud and your time with friends rich with it. Let it fuel your soul and move your pen!

_Cardeia_


	25. Kissing Away Walls

**Disclaimer: **I do not own any of the character names, save my own original creations. I do not wish to be compensated for this work, nor do I wish to infringe on any copyrights held by any stakeholders of the movie King Arthur. This work is an original creation, based on the legend of King Arthur and his knights.

* * *

**Scribe Notes:**

_Calliann:_ Here you go, the walk on the battlements. I think the chapter titlekind of gives it away, but I hope you enjoy it. I am nervous about posting it, since its the long awaited "you-know-what". I hope I do not disappoint!

_Sokorra Lewis:_ You bet, thats the whole point. One day they wake up and realize that they need each other since they have been with each other. Have to have some strife in there of course. If that bunny ever gets out of it's cage, I will look forward to reading it! Glad I can inspire you, as you give me encouragement with your words.

_Ailis-70:_ Hey! Guin growing on you? My goodness I'll have to make her walk around in a huff or something, or order some of the women about. Just kidding. I am glad that I am able to give her a bit more depth and help you understand her. Looking forward to your response to this chapter.

_LovelyHeidi:_ Thank you! I am really happy you liked it. I enjoyed writing it very much. It was fun to play the game with them, and have a bit more of Jols come out in the open. I truly love his smile. he feels genuine to me whenever I see him on the screen, no matter what character he plays. he adores Cerys, and I like that dynamic. He is her "workhorse", and long time partner keeping the fort afloat.

_History2:_ I love your reviews, you give me insight into my own words and I relish it. Yes, he does sort of confess his love, unconciously then realizing. How many times have we done that where we either say "Love you" to a friend or stop ourselves from saying it too soon in a relationship that seems "perfect"?

* * *

**Chapter 25: _Kissing Away Walls_**

As they walked towards the wall, Cerys' stomach was flipping itself over and over like a fish on dry land. Here she was, hand in hand with her Lancelot, a normal everyday friend thing to do, yet she was so nervous she could barely stand it.

Since he had come home, the same feeling she had endured while he was away had become stronger. She had been so happy for his homecoming, and his kiss in the stable yard had again given her head a spin. This time, she had not run. She had wanted his kiss this time, which con­fused her.

She had tried her best to stay away from him, but... she was also drawn to him. She so loved their trading of words, their quiet time together. She had thoroughly enjoyed their jest of a bet, and been quite relieved that he had not won. He would hold true to it, of that she was sure.

This was different though. They were alone now. She wanted to be alone with him, but at the same time, was not quite sure what to do or say when alone with him. She worked on a good conversation starter silently as they walked.

Lancelot had not been angry about Brinn, which was very good. She was relieved that he was not going to make Brinn move back to the stables, and leave her rooms empty. She had enjoyed the company so much these past few weeks, that when he moved to the barracks eventually, it was going to be a very quiet place.

She thought quickly to how she would spend her evenings after dark with him holding a book in his lap while she would sit cross-legged beside him and teach him words. He was reading whole sentences now, and almost to the point where he was equal with her skill. She would need more lessons from Arthur soon. He was a smart young boy, and more and more he reminded her of a young Arthur.

Arthur entered her thoughts then, as they continued to walk. She was quite taken back by his reaction to her hands. She was not quite sure how to interpret that yet, other than his needing a break from fighting; it perhaps was wearing his resolve down to a nub. Guinevere must have exaggerated.

"You are thinking much too hard Cerys." Lancelot said as they reached the wall. "It is a night to relax, not whittle in your head."

"I am not whittling." She said, breaking from her thoughts.

"Yes, you are. Now stop."

She stuck her tongue out at to him and they climbed the stairs, her in front of him, holding her skirts as he carried their wine.

Once up on the wall she turned to take her wine from him. A halo of light from the torches along the wall came from behind him as he mounted the last step, highlighting his mass of curls, his strong jaw... She took a breath in. His broad shoulders sloping to muscled arms, and his legs, so strong from riding, barely keeping in his leather trews. His hands, wide and strong... twice the size of her own...

She was coming undone at the seams! What was wrong with her? She had never noticed him this way before.

She put a hand to her stomach to still it. Gods, this was insanity. She should not be here with him. She willed herself to control.

"Cerys, are you well?" He said, coming to her, his face closer, bending to see into it.

She waved him off. "I am fine. Perhaps a bit of wine and a climb makes the head spin slightly."

He laughed softly and handed her cup over, putting his now free arm around her shoulders. It was a chilly evening, and she was glad for her cloak, and more glad for his body heat, now ra­diating on her side. How could this man comfort her and yet make her so jumpy at the same time?

She knew at that moment that she could not deny it anymore.

She was desperately in love with her best friend.

She had been fighting it, pushing it away, but, there it was again. If only he would feel the same way! She already knew he would not be interested. He was not the type to settle down with one woman. She had been witness to so many of his trysts she had lost count.

They stopped along the wall near a turret and looked out south towards the cemetery. She leaned a shoulder against the wall of the turret and faced out, sipping her wine. They chatted for a few moments on nothing, on the horses, on the winter weather. Cerys set her cup down on the wall, its coldness making her hands hurt. She tucked them away in her cloak.

"Do they still hurt?" He asked, leaning up behind her, his own cup joining hers on the wall.

She nodded. "A bit sometimes. Dafydd says that they may hurt for the rest of my life. I did much damage."

She could feel his fingers curl around her shoulders, holding hard. She heard his breath intake sharply. She spun, his hands settling back on her shoulders once she faced him.

"What is it?" She asked.

He looked away from her, his eyes unreadable, set hard. His throat working as he swallowed. She poked him.

"Lancelot! Your fingers are hurting my shoulders!"

He released her, and their eyes met. She was locked to them, the pain swirling through them so evident, it broke her heart.

"Gods, Lancelot, what..." She began.

Without warning, his arms went around her, crushing her to his chest. She could hear him breathing in and swallowing. Was he willing himself not to cry? She threaded her hands in under his cloak to find his waist and circled him. Her cheek warm against his chest, she could hear his heartbeat, fast and strong. Then she felt his lips on the top of her head, softly pressing.

His hands rubbed her back, on top of her cloak, and he pulled her tighter. She felt his shaking, ever so slightly.

What kind of mission had these men gone on? She pondered that a moment in his grasp, letting him silently battle his control. First Arthur breaking down, now Lancelot? She wondered at what they had seen, what they had to endure. She shuddered involuntarily.

She never asked the men about their missions, she was not really sure if she ever really wanted to know about the battles, the killing. Not with Gawain's nightmares showing the horror it truly could be. She knew these men were supposed to be hardened killers after years of fighting. It did not bother her, for she saw human behind knight. They were not their station; their station was only part of them!

There was time to reflect on that later, she pushed it out. Lancelot needed her comfort at this moment, it seemed.

"It's alright..." She whispered softly, her hands now patting his back. He pressed his lips harder to the top of her head and she shifted away, looking up to his face, her chin resting on his chest. He looked down to her, his own eyes showing such torment that it took her aback. How she cared for this man, how she wanted him to smile at just that moment. She brought a hand up and brushed away a tear that he had finally let fall. She wanted to... Her thoughts were a jumble.

"Tell me." She said.

He let out a larger breath and looked up, swallowing once more. "I am just... I am upset."

"About what?"

"That we were off on a goose chase, while you were here... working so hard and almost..." He hitched, pulling her in again, forcing her cheek to his chest again. He rocked her slowly.

"Almost what?" She said, her brow furrowing. He was upset about her? She was not sure she understood.

"You almost died, from what the story was told to me."

Oh. That was it, she thought. He was worried the same way Arthur was, about death and losing loved ones. No one had perished on this tour, but still... Her men were behaving strangely, that was for sure. They were just blisters!

He loosed his arms from her and took her shoulders again. He looked into her eyes and shook her slightly. "I could not bear it if you had... had died. I feel guilty for not being here to protect you."

She pursed her lips.

"Protect me from what? Myself? It was me who blistered my hands and did not eat. It was me who did not sleep for worrying about the harvest and about you..."

A hand flew to her mouth. What had she just let slip?

"Me?"

"I always worry about you when you are gone. About all of you. It drives me to pacing, to not sleeping. To working myself hard to block out the thoughts of your death so far from home. You mean so much to me..." Cerys hung her head. She had, of course, confessed this to him in the baths, just never verbally before. Now he too would know her weakness, unless Tristan had told him, which she quite doubted he would.

He sighed then, a hand coming to her head and stroking her hair. She broke their embrace and leaned her back against the wall, her fingers twisting together.

"I am sorry." Was all he said. He came towards her again, this time in front of her, one arm leaned up above the wall so he was close to her. He tilted her chin with his other hand; making her meet his eyes, now clear again.

He was inches from her right at that moment. She could feel his body, she felt so vulnerable. She wanted to move away, put space between them, but she couldn't move, and part of her did not want to anymore. Her abdomen was warming, her breath quickening. She wanted too much to comfort him, show him all was fine, and she needed his comfort... she needed to know he would be alright...

"Lancelot... I..." She started, but stopped. She frowned, looking away, then back to his eyes. Damn those stabbing eyes! They were making her want what she could not have.

They were making her do things she would regret.

She reached up a hand and placed it over his heart, just where she knew his crecent moon scar was. She pressed her hand into his chest. She never took her eyes from his. He groaned softly and covered her hand with his.

She stopped thinking, her mind blanking to all but him. She reached up on her toes and met her lips to his, hesitantly. She lowered herself again.

He blinked. She blinked.

A heartbeat later, she was pressed up against the wall, his lips down on hers with force. Her hands came up around his neck, her fingers twining through his hair, pulling him in.

He opened her lips with his tongue, devouring her. She responded, arching her body, her own tongue tasting him. She moaned softly as his arms circled her waist, hefting her up along the wall level with him, held by his arms, his hands over her hips. She felt so hot, the fire burning in her now. She could feel him, hard against her through his trews. He moaned into her mouth, his fingers digging into her, his kiss becoming more insistent.

Pleasure ripped through her stomach, down through her abdomen, out through her toes. She gasped and shook slightly, not sure what to make of it.

She truly would die now, she thought as she gasped again, this time as his lips trailed down her chin to her neck. Her hands grasped his hair, pulling harder.

"Oh!" She breathed.

He broke from their kissing, his breath ragged, and his eyes dark with desire, one eyebrow raised and a smile on his lips. Had he felt her shake? What was he thinking? She looked to him, her own eyes mirroring the desire he was showing.

They stared at each other, their breath mingling in the night, steaming about their heads. She was possessed, and she could not think about anything more than this heat, this shock of desire radiating through her body. She wanted more from him.

"Cerys." He whispered, putting his forehead to her. She kissed his neck, her lips brushing softly over skin and he responded, moving and capturing her mouth to his once again.

She pulled away from him finally, and he let her go, sliding back down the wall to her own feet. Her shaking hands went up to her hair to smooth it away from her face. He stopped her hand and he finished the job, bringing his hand to rest on her cheek.

They stared at each other. Cerys was unsure of what to say or do next. She cleared her throat.

"Lancelot I... I..."

He put a finger to her lips and shook his head. "Shush. Drink your wine." He handed her cup to her. She drank deeply. She felt so hot, even with the chill. His arm went around her again, his lips on the top of her head once more. He wrapped his cloak about both of them as she drank. They stayed that way, both stilling their breath, his arms holding her close. All she could hear was his heartbeat, slowing down.

"Lancelot!" A voice from below echoed up to them. They both looked down over the wall as Bors and Lorina looked up, arm in arm, the baby in a shoulder sling across Lorina's chest.

"Bors! Turning in for the evening so soon?" He answered.

"I have my duties to attend to." He said as he patted Lorina's behind. She tossed him a saucy look, and pinched his arm.

"He thinks he's a stallion, this one." She taunted.

He laughed and placed his other arm about her, picking her up and kissing her cheek loudly. "Ah but I am, you know. Now, woman, let's be gone and leave the lovebirds to their own mak­ing."

"Goodnight Bors, goodnight Lorina." Cerys managed, earning a wink from Bors and a look from Lorina that said 'you-must-tell-me-tomorrow'.

"Goodnight Cerys, be gentle now, these knights, they are not as tough as they seem." Lorina said, her eyebrow raised. That earned her another pinch to her bottom and she squealed, slap­ping her husband's arm.

Be gentle? Lovebirds? What had that meant? She looked confused.

"It seems we were discovered." Lancelot said dryly.

"Oh dear... Oh dear..." Cerys said. She was not sure if she liked that or not. What would people think? What would they say? She put her hand to her face and looked worriedly at Lancelot, his arm still about her shoulders.

"Don't fret Cerys."

"I must go. Really I must." She broke from his embrace completely, gathering up her cloak and giving him her cup. She furrowed her brow. Stop this nonsense! She thought and took a deep breath to calm herself.

"Have you eaten?" He asked suddenly, his stomach growling loudly.

She shook her head. "No. I am not hungry."

He took her arm and they walked back towards the stairway in silence. Once down the stairs, they walked slowly to her rooms, pausing at the door. He leaned against the doorframe, bringing himself close to her again. Her hands went up to his chest, his arm around her waist.

"Goodnight Lancelot." She said finally. She must keep distance or she would reach for him again. How he had made her feel this way, she wasn't sure, but right now she needed to think on it. She was very confused.

He brushed his lips to her forehead and straightened. She hoped he could sense her need for space. She prayed that he would not follow her in. She felt such desire for him up on the wall, but she was not sure she was ready for...for that.

"Goodnight, my Cerys." He said softly. He touched her cheek once more and he turned and walked away.

She watched him until he rounded the corner towards the common and she closed the door, lean­ing against it, her eyes closed, her fingers pressed to her lips.

* * *

**Dear Reader:**

And thus we have broken the barrier. First kisses are always the ones we remember, the ones we unconciously measure against. First kisses can be confusing, exciting, and most of all, steamy.

May all your kisses be like the first.

_Cardeia_


	26. Questions

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the character names, save my own original creations. I do not wish to be compensated for this work, nor do I wish to infringe on any copyrights held by any stakeholders of the movie King Arthur. This work is an original creation, based on the legend of King Arthur and his knights.

* * *

**Scribe Notes:**

_Ailis-70:_ You got it. That is going to be an interesting part to write, it was a long time ago, I'll have to drege those memories up and revel in them. I am glad you enjoyed it and here are some fun chapters for you. Lancelot can be very sexy, in that dangerous playful kind of way! I hope to give you another view of Tristan coming up, and I can't wait to get your idea on it. Sorry, don't mean to tease...

_Calliann:_ Thanks you! I am glad I did not disappoint. It was a hard chapter to write since there was such a build-up. I admit I was flushed whilst writing it. Nothing like a manly man giving you what for with his lips.

_Winged Seraph:_ I do too! My first kiss was nothing like that, but my first kiss in LOVE was very much like that. I wrote a short piece on it for one of my workshops, and I dragged it up to use for this chapter. Embellished a bit, of course, but that is creative license. I am glad you liked the description of Lancelot. I had a picture of him standing in his armour, all cocky, on my screen when I wrote that sentence. The way he stood in that armour in the movie was perfect to describe at some point. Ioan's confidence in the portrayal was excellent.

_Et Cetera et cetera:_ You are more than welcome to ask! I shall await it with anticipation. II enjoy encouraging writers to be the best they can. Iam so glad that you have enjoyed the story, and I am honoured that you have reviewed! It encourages me when I receive reviews such as yours in, it moves my pen. There are many many wonderful fan fiction stories on this website, I have read some that far surpass my ability.

I have been researching while writing this story, and have enjoyed learning about "daily Roman life" from which I base. As well, I bring in my own life running a horse farm and organizing a family into the ways of life. It's important to give the tidbits of life to give the story context. And, learning about how people lived back then really makes for interesting research! I intend to take sword handling this winter at the local college, it looks very educational and a better workout than the treadmill!

_Sokorra Lewis:_ I love it when plots come together! I too like Gawain, I think that Joel played a very interesting bit character. Laid-back, rather fun-loving, but brutal, deadly in battle and a bit bitter about life. He is also honorable, and we see that in the bar scene where he says that he is with Arthur. I have a screen from the movie where he is standing amongst Woad bodies carrying his axe and looking through them, obviously tired and panting from a battle. The lookJoel gives Gawain right then sums him up. If you are looking for some good ones of him, check the Outnow.ch website. I see him loving life and living fully. That is why I wanted to experiment with giving him a weakness, his nightmares.

_LovelyHeidi_: I am happy I help you remember. I endeavour to make people think on their lives, and to cherish the memories, whether good or bad. Those memories I can help you to remember are part of what makes you who you are and that is a wonderful thing!

_History2:_ Confusion will abound for our stubborn lovers. I am looking forward to the next few chapters, I have some ideas to try out. I am glad you liked their kiss. Innocence in Cerys and Lancelot knowing exactly what to "do" to her makes it more fun. What a lucky girl! Cerys did realize her love at that moment, just as Lancelot did when Cerys was doctoring his head bump when she startled him in his rooms. Doesn't make it any clearer for them, just tells them that they have lost the fight not to be in love. Acceptance and courage to voice it are next. The courage to face an uncertain answer is important to them. Will she understand that she is not a tryst to him, will he get past his own self-loathing to realize that she sees more than a killing machine?

I think sometimes I am going through the emotions of falling in love, with our pair. I hope that it helps me give them genuine emotion to the process.

_Babaksmiles:_ Not to worry, thank you for the review! I think M will be ok, I am new to online fiction and as such unfamiliar with ratings. Most 16 years olds read cosmo anyways, and know more about sex than I ever will. Kind of scary in a way, the cover of that magazine.

I am glad you liked the chapter! Here are two more fun ones, where I give some time filler before the next plot event. It's kind of fun, I wanted to write some scenes with drunken knights. Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 26: _Questions_**

Lancelot rounded the corner into the common. A few men were left at tables, most either drunk­enly sleeping or quietly talking. He sought out a new cup from behind the bar and filled it. He would square away with Lorina later. She would understand.

"That was quick."

Lancelot looked up to see Tristan, an apple in his hand. He took a bite, and chewed slowly.

"Give over one of those apples I know you have stashed. I'm famished." Lancelot grumbled.

Tristan flipped an apple to him; he caught it and tore a chunk out of it. "Not what you think." He mumbled through a full mouth, pointing. Tristan nodded.

Lancelot leaned his elbows on the bar and exhaled, bowing his head. Tristan leaned with his back to Lancelot, his elbows also resting on the bar, one foot propped up behind him. The crunching of apples was the only sound as they quietly ate, a seemingly calm pair of men sur­veying the scene. Lancelot thought quietly how looks could be deceiving. Here they were, his thoughts so jumbled and his blood boiling, his companion playing the scout, alert through half-lidded eyes.

"You out in the morning for your run to the coast and back?" Lancelot asked suddenly.

Tristan nodded.

"Need a second?"

Tristan turned his head to look at Lancelot out of the corner of an eye. "Need to get out?"

Lancelot groaned and nodded his head. Out? Yes... out. He would liked to have left then, his need to release this frustration was driving him mad.

Gawain joined them some time later, his empty cup thwacking the table as he placed it on the bar. He was well into his drink and swaying.

"That wass quick." He slurred.

Lancelot raised his eyes to the sky. Did these men think of nothing else? He wanted some peace; he needed to think, and to calm down. He didn't need idiot questions from drunken Gawain at this moment.

"Come on man, whass th'story?" Gawain prodded.

Lancelot levelled a gaze to Gawain. Tristan chewed on yet more apple and looked between them.

"Not going to get into it." he muttered, downing his cup of wine and turning for another.

Gawain burped and steadied himself to the bar. "She turn...turned y'down?"

Lancelot had just about had enough.

He reached across the bar and wrapped his fingers in a fold of Gawain's tunic. He pulled, and Gawain sprawled across the bar, nose to nose with him. He regarded his drunken friend for a mo­ment. Thank the Gods he was on that side of the bar, or he would have decked him by now.

"Sod off."

Gawain hiccupped, and Lancelot let him go. Tristan put out a hand and steadied Gawain as he tottered back from the bar.

"I think it's time to say goodnight Gawain" Tristan said quietly, straightening from the bar, his apple core placed neatly on the edge.

Gawain regarded Tristan a moment, swaying. He blinked a few times, and staggered back once.

"G'night G'wain!" Gawain said cheerfully, then dropped like a stone to the floor.

"Damn." Lancelot leaned over the bar and regarded the now oblivious Gawain. "You want to carry him or shall I?"

Tristan poked him with a foot. "I think it may take both of us."

Lancelot rounded the bar and they each grabbed an arm, lifting Gawain. Gawain woke up briefly and looked to Lancelot. "Gareth?"

Lancelot shook his head. "No, Lancelot."

"Where's Gareth?" He mumbled before he fell asleep again.

They arrived at Gawain and Galahad's apartments. The door was closed, and Tristan held up a hand as Lancelot made ready to shoulder it open.

They stopped. Giggling could be heard from inside. Tristan looked to Lancelot.

"Your rooms or mine?"

"Yours, I intend to use mine this night."

They dragged Gawain further down the row of apartments to Lancelot's door. Lancelot steadied Gawain and turned the lever, opening the door. They stepped sideways in and flopped the drunken man onto the bed, dust clouding out around him. Lancelot lifted his feet up under him, and Gawain flopped to his back, letting out a snore.

"Perhaps he will sleep through the night." Lancelot muttered, rolling his shoulder joint with a hand on top. Gawain was heavy.

Tristan simply looked at Lancelot and turned to leave. Lancelot debated using his saddle roll to sleep on, but knew he would not get any if Gawain began his screams. He would retrieve his thing in the morning before leaving.

He followed Tristan out the door and closed it behind him. The air was now chilly and they stood for a moment, rubbing hands together, breathing into them.

"You going to be alright?" Tristan asked suddenly.

Lancelot nodded. He put a hand out to Tristan and patted his shoulder.

"Get some sleep friend. I have much thinking to do."

Lancelot headed for the common. He still needed that second cup of wine.

* * *

**Dear Reader:**

Poor Gawain. Yet more glimpes into him for you.He is a happy drunk until he sleeps, something I could see in him in the movie.Tristan understanding the need for Lancelot to get out, despite his need to solitude is interesting and I intend to play on that ("tease tease tease" for all the Tristan fans out there).

Onward and Upward to the next!

_Cardeia_


	27. Morning Glorious

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the character names, save my own original creations. I do not wish to be compensated for this work, nor do I wish to infringe on any copyrights held by any stakeholders of the movie King Arthur. This work is an original creation, based on the legend of King Arthur and his knights.

* * *

**Chapter 27: _Morning Glorious_**

Arthur poked his head around the corner of the stable to retching noises. Lancelot was bent in two, one hand on the wall, the other clutching his stomach. Arthur shook his head.

"You really do get into your drink." He said as he stood and waited for Lancelot to finish.

Lancelot heard his friend's voice and groaned. He felt like a sack of dirt. Nimli had woken him in the morning when she was on her way through to the kitchens, from his spot on the ground near the table he had sat at and drunk himself to a stupor. He had fallen over at some point, and his jaw was smarting from where, he guessed, he had hit it on the way down.

"Arthur. G'morning." He mumbled. His jaw was aching.

He looked up to Arthur, and noted Arthur's bemused expression. "S'not what you think." He said. Hadn't he said that last night before this had all started?

"Oh?"

"S'just a sore jaw." Lancelot continued as he walked back towards the front of the stables.

"I see."

There was a hint of teasing in that. Alright, he deserved that. He did, he was sure, reek of wine.

Gawain walked out into the morning sun, squinting and holding his hand up to his eyes. He stag­gered a bit and leaned against a post.

"You too?" Arthur could barely hold out from laughing.

Gawain groaned and pushed Lancelot out of the way, heading around the corner where Lancelot had just come from. Retching sounds started anew.

"You two need your beds, not the ringing of hammer on anvil." He said, his eyes dancing with the humour of the situation. It took quite a bit to get Arthur to find a drunken set of knights fun­ny, but Lancelot and Gawain had succeeded.

He wished the real circumstances were as funny. He hoped Arthur would not ask him about it.

"Can't, going with Tristan." Lancelot managed as he sat on an upturned round of wood. He put his head in his hands.

"He needs a second?" Arthur asked, sitting down beside him on another round.

Lancelot shrugged. "I asked, he didn't say no."

Arthur put a hand on his friend's shoulder and they looked to each other for a moment. Arthur pursed his lips and nodded.

"Alright. Do you good."

A whistle sounded from the stable doors and Brinn came out. He motioned to Lancelot and Lancelot groaned. He got up and made his way into the stable where Hywel was resting his bulk between horses, his anvil and small forge set up. Hoof clippings littered the floor, and some of the dogs were circling about, wanting to steal in and take the tasty treats away to gnaw on. Lancelot kicked a chunk over towards a brown brindled dog sitting not far away. The dog ran out, the rest chasing him. Their snarls as they fought for the prize echoed outside.

Tristan was tacking Sky, his own riding armour on and ready. Gawain, returned from outside, was putting Demetia back to her stall, and he stopped once she was tied and rested there, his forehead on her shoulder.

"Gods." He groaned. "I hate shoeing days."

The men in the stable laughed lightly as he turned, and with his fingers to his temples left the stables. Lancelot wished that he could exit with him. He would love to be in a warm bed, under furs... His thoughts immediately went to Cerys and he swore under his breath. He had to keep moving and get the hell out of here or he would go mad with his urge to...

"Brinn, bring Klyndd out and let's get this over with." He finally managed.

A half-hour later, Lancelot took the sleeping rope off of Klyndd's lip and rubbed it. He had felt better for standing in the darker stable and holding the horse while Brinn had gotten his things from his rooms. Perhaps it would be a good thing to get out and ride for a day or two. He needed to stretch his legs, and so did the horse. Perhaps his heart too. He realized that he hadn't told Cerys he was leaving. He figured that one of the men would. She knew of the run, it was a day out and a day back. No consequences. Usually.

Part of him wanted to tell her, let her know. He wanted to see her again so badly, to see if the night before had been because of the wine, or if there was a chance that she had truly wanted him.

He wished he knew.

He hefted the saddle into place and regarded Tristan, who, upon seeing that Klyndd needed new shoes, had taken the opportunity to sharpen his blades, his eyes the only part betraying that he knew the sound of Flintstone on the edge would drive Lancelot's headache. Lancelot gritted his teeth and put up with it. He helped Brinn get the flank straps on and then dressed.

"Ready?" Tristan asked, as Lancelot belted his swords in place under his cloak.

"Finished tormenting me?" Lancelot spat, jerking down on his lower arming points to test the knots.

Tristan snorted quietly once.

They mounted up, and with a quick nod to Arthur, left. Lancelot glanced quickly into the kitch­ens door as they rode past it, but he didn't see her. He looked down the store room alley, she wasn't there either.

He was beginning to feel sorry for not telling her. If nothing more than to tell her he would be back and not to worry. He silently berated himself for being so soft, and for drinking so much, and for...

For wanting to just see her again. He was acting like a sad dog, and he willed his mind to con­centrating on riding out the gates.

They cantered out the gate and his mood immediately lifted. It was a glorious morning to be out, the sky was clear and the sun was warming his leathers. He relaxed into his horse's stride.

They skirted the wall and made along one of the main roads. Lancelot's head cleared of its thumping, and Klyndd and Sky matched strides, churning up new snow and mud as they went.

A cry from up above made Lancelot look and he saw Isaac following them. Tristan looked up too, and for the first time in awhile, Lancelot saw the man truly smile. Ear to ear, teeth flashing in the light.

"Good to be galloping." Tristan said and urged Sky forward.

Lancelot began to understand why the man liked the coast run so much. He was in his element, he needed the freedom. He envied Tristan and his simple needs right then.

They galloped along, turning the corner away from the fort. Lancelot glanced back once, and saw a small figure standing on the main battlements, one hand to their eyes and the other wav­ing.

* * *

**Dear Reader:**

And thus spirits are lifted with a gallop again. Whenever I am in a foul mood, I go for a gallop on my own gelding, whose name is Triple Run. We call him Skye, after his mother. He's a chestnut, and he was a racehorse that I rode when I was riding racehorses for a living, and bought when he was retired. He is my dream come true and his stride makes my heart lift when I need it most.

What do you do that lifts your spirit? What have you experienced that helps you see clearly and give you purpose? For Tristan it is riding and being outside in nature, for Lancelot, it is doing his duty and enjoying his life with his friends nearby. Should there be more? perhaps I should teach Lancelot how to knit... Just kidding. He does have a hobby, I just haven't told you what it is yet. And no, it is not bedding women and drinking. Ha ha...

As always, I bid your writing is something that gives you purpose, validates you, and lets your spirit fly as Tristan's does when he rides.

_Cardeia_


	28. Cloaks and Swords

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the character names, save my own original creations. I do not wish to be compensated for this work, nor do I wish to infringe on any copyrights held by any stakeholders of the movie King Arthur. This work is an original creation, based on the legend of King Arthur and his knights.

* * *

**Scribe Notes:**

_LovelyHeidi:_ I am glad I was able to brighten your day! Lancelot does have a hobby, which I will elude to soon. It's kind of fun what I decided to do. Enjoy these next two chapters!

_Winged Seraph:_ Gawain is interesting to me from his bitterness in the movie. He is bitter about home, bitter about religion. what has made him so? I thought about him tormenting himself over something, and the best way for it to come out is for him to suffer through something not of his control. These men control their own lives every day, but they cannot control their dreams. Gawain drinks to forget when he is concious, but cannot forget in his dreams. More will come to explain Gareth soon, I promise!

And yes, Tristan's quietness meshes with Lancelot's "loudness". Oil and Water can be shaken to make a marinade for appetizing meat. Such is a metaphor for their relationship, both complementing each other to make one heckuva team.

_Sokorra Lewis_: I wanted more interaction in the movie. I said in another review today that I think this is why we love writing about these men and their ties to one another so much. The movie didn't develop the secondary characters enough, and focused more on Arthur, Lancelot and Guin, as a good movie should. But, I thought the potential was there for so much more. That was why I was suprised when David Franzoni killed off Lancelot. He likes doing that in his screenplays. Interesting to get his ideas on why he did kill so many of the original "magnificent 7". I digress... Thank you for your encouragement and I am glad you are enjoying this interaction. Here is two more chapters!

_Ailis-70:_ Apples... in the scene where Tristan delivers his "I aim for the middle" he points with an apple in his hand, while chewing and slightly drunk. That showed his dry humour, and made him so arrogant that I think the two are now linked. I gave him apples since a man so fixated on quietness, nature and his own spirit would also be fixated on his food. Rhythmn means everything to him, in life, in killing (hence his fluid movements in battle) and in food. So if apples are what he likes, then that fits in the rhythmn. I'm glad I make him sexy eating an apple. Better that than him smoking or something eh? Did you know that Mads was a professional dancer for 8 years? That would explain his light feet in the movie. he held himself like a dancer would. I see it now that I know that bit of trivia.

The next two chapters will be very interesting for you, especially the second (29). I wrote this one with you in mind, and to be completely honest, I had Teagan in my mind too. Please forgive me grin.

And lastly, was it Cerys on the wall? wink

_Calliann:_ thank you for your perseverance! Yes, the site was down and very annoying it was. But it did give me a few days to just write and I have some wonderful creative stuff to share. I hope you enjoy these next two chapters!

_Babaksmiles:_ Oh yes I think so! I wanted to give Lancelot a more human side. He can be cocky and arrogant and a complete boor, but suddenly this woman has him unhinged and he's not quite sure what to do. I am relishing the chance to change him from a "ne'er do well" ladies man to realizing that there is more to a woman than a warm place to lay your head for a time. There is completeness when the right one comes along. he just has to get past his own doubts, that are masked by his cocky, arrogant, and boorish humour.

_lilstrummgrl527_: thank you for your review! I very much appreciate your words. I LOVE Bernard Cornwell. The part of the story when Ceinwyn and Derfel finally declare that they love each other brings me to tears every single time. He has such an original way of telling a story, and such a masculine way of describing battles that the two meet into one excellent tale. Have you read StoneHenge yet? It is fantastic as well. Hywel, I discovered, means "Goodbye", but can also mean "greatness". So I think that is what Bernard may have meant when he named Derfel's sword, but I still think my original idea is more fun.

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**Chapter 28: _Cloaks and Swords_**

Cerys stood in her rooms, flustered. She was trying to decide if she would wear the fox lined cloak or the ermine one. Why was she having such trouble deciding? She closed her eyes and pointed.

Upon opening them, she was pointing at the edge of her bed, nowhere near either cloak. She sighed heavily and sat on the bed, locking her fingers together.

Last night had been so very intense. She should have known better, yet she was not sure she would have not let it happen if given another chance. But...

She didn't want to be one of his trysts. She didn't want to lose him as a friend, and it was not an appealing thought that if he moved on after, she would be "one of them".

This was ridiculous. Ever since his kiss in the baths she had been undone around him, and now she had lost her control and kissed him. He had been willing enough, that was sure. She had also been willing, she had wanted his kiss. She had wanted more... and that was new. She had never felt that way before.

She loved him. She was going to have to eventually tell him and let him decide, no matter how much it would hurt her to hear him say no. She would get no peace about her until she got it out in the open.

A hand went to her stomach. It growled. She had not eaten last night at all.

Hunger won out and she threw on the closer of the two cloaks, her fox fur. It was warmer any­ways.

She stepped out into the sunlit morning, and waved to a few people. Lorina was behind the bar in the common, stacking horn cups. Cerys wandered over and leaned on the bar.

"Hey."

Lorina looked up and a huge smile came across her face. "Hey! Hold a moment. I have some cheese and bread, would you care to eat with me?"

Cerys nodded, her stomach again making noise at the thought of food.

Lorina finished her stacking and grabbed a cheesecloth bundle from a shelf behind her. They sat at an empty bench and she broke the cheese and bread in two.

"I think your lover found his way into my wine last night. Nimli woke him this morning stinking drunk under a table." Lorina said between bites.

"He's not my lover." Cerys said defensively.

"Then what were you doing up there? Discussing pasture rotations or store room shelving?"

Cerys grimaced at Lorina's teasing tone. The whole fort would know now. Perfect. She sighed and put her cheese down.

"It was not what you think." She said as she pointed and shook a finger at Lorina.

"Crud. You and he have been dancing around each other for some time now. It's good to finally see you both figuring it out!"

Cerys' brow furrowed. "What do you mean dancing around each other?"

Lorina patted Cerys' hand. She took breath to speak, but a large hand on her shoulder stopped her and she swivelled her head up.

Cerys watched Bors reach down and kiss his wife on the top of her head and take a bit of her bread. Cerys immediately remembered Lancelot's lips on the top of her own head the night be­fore and she felt rather in the way at that moment. She wanted to be alone. She got up to leave.

"Don't leave on my account." Bors said as he came round and gave her a squeeze of her own. "I came to join you lovely ladies, was just at the stable seeing to Raven's shoes."

Cerys sat again as he joined them, his arm about his wife. Cerys looked at them, so happy to­gether. What made them so happy? She knew that they loved each other, but Bors was not an easy man to be with. He was loud, he was obnoxious, and he was...

Very gentle with Lorina, she noticed, as he put a big hand over her hair and stroked down as if it was silk, whispering in her ear to make her giggle.

Cerys put her food down. Suddenly she felt lonely, and realized she missed Lancelot.

"You going to eat that?" Bors asked as he pointed to the remains of her breakfast. She shook her head. She sat back as he grabbed it and wolfed it down. She half listened as they talked about the day to come, and Lorina told him to find Lancelot so he could pay for the wine he took from her barrels. Her thoughts turned to him, and she put a hand to her mouth, thinking again to the kiss, and what it had done to her. She stared off into nothing.

"Lancelot left with Tristan this morning for a coast run." Bors said as he chewed.

That lifted Cerys' head. "He left with Tristan?"

"Your lover decided he needed a gallop I guess." Bors laughed.

"He's not my lover!" Cerys said again, frustrated.

Bors looked at her, an unbelieving smirk on his face. He grunted and looked to his wife. She shrugged and they both smiled.

Cerys stood up, her hands on the table. She needed to leave now. It was a bit much to think from one kiss, and she truly didn't want to impose on Lorina and Bors having quiet time without a child in tow.

"I really should go." She said, her voice wavering. "Thank you for the breakfast."

She rushed out of the common as fast as her walking could take her. She didn't know where to go. She wandered up to the kitchens, and all was well in hand there. She wandered past the stores. They had been inventoried yesterday, and she had no need for more to be brought up until tomorrow. She thought about baking some bread, but the women were already well into that task. It seemed she had the morning off unless someone came to her with crisis. She half expect­ed Octus, or one of his men at any moment.

She wandered to the armoury; the men were out working, save Gawain, and Bors who was back with Lorina. Galahad was spinning a new blade in his hand, trying to find its balance; Arthur and Perceval were working with wood staffs. Jols was working on the wooden practice dummy with his hand blades, and other men, whom Cerys vaguely knew, were either sparring or work­ing with their own weapons.

Cerys stopped and watched the melee for a moment. They worked so hard, and were so good at what they did. It was not surprising that many of them were not married. Being a knight meant dedication to being a good warrior. That was a demanding mistress in all things, including time away from family and home. She was still amazed at how they were able to cope sometimes.

She thought of Lancelot again, and how he had greeted her when he came home. It brought her hand to her lips again. She truly was not herself thinking of him this way.

Gawain stepped up to lean on the wall beside where she had stopped. She turned to him and smiled. Gawain smiled back and tweaked her arm through her cloak.

"How is my Cerys today?" He asked, lifting his frame off the wall and putting an arm around her shoulders. He played with the fox fur edges as they watched the men work.

"I am well Gawain. And you? A tad hung over?" She said as she sniffed. He had an odour of wine coming off him, and he looked a bit pale.

He laughed softly. "Getting better now. Fresh air helps."

Galahad saw them and walked over, the blade now sitting even across his palm in the centre, dipping slightly to either side as he walked. He was smiling, and his step was light. Cerys thought to Dory. She hoped that he didn't hurt her in the end if she was just a tryst, she liked the shy girl.

"Brother! Good of you to join us! Test this new blade out. Hywel's new apprentice is getting better at finding the centre I think." He turned the hilt towards his brother.

Cerys touched the pommel of the hilt with her fingers. "It's very nice carving he did. It reminds me of my father's sword."

Galahad moved the hilt towards her. He motioned to her to pick it out of his hands. She shook her head and put up her hand. She would not even be able to lift it an inch!

"Come on Cerys, just try." Gawain urged. "It's a lovely blade, you'd enjoy giving it a swing."

Cerys looked from one brother to the other. It was tempting. She had held smaller swords be­fore, and Lancelot's Gladius swords were quite light. He used to let her play with them in the barracks when they were young, slicing in front of her, pretending to be a swordsmaster. Play was all it was, Cerys knew nothing about weaponry save her bow. But it was fun to grasp a han­dle in one's hand and swing the weight about.

She thought of her father's sword and how heavy it was, and how she had carried it to his some­times as a small child, dragging the end of its scabbard through the dust to give it to him as he was preparing to leave. He would always crouch down and tell her she was a good girl, and she would try and put her arms around the armour across his huge chest. She never could and she would giggle, and he would heft her up and carry her on his shoulder plates until they were due to leave, whinnying and jumping about, pretending to be her very own knightly steed. She could still hear her mother's laughter, and her father's noises as he would paw and pretend to rear.

Cerys felt a pang as she remembered her father. She still missed him, even after all these years.

"No, it is much too heavy. My hands are not yet ready for such a weight." She lied.

Gawain nodded and lifted the blade out of his brother's hands. He swung it out a few times, turn­ing his wrist to make smooth arcing swipes. The blade whooshed quietly through the air.

"This is a nice blade. It must have lightened your coin purse?" Gawain asked, now inspecting the blade itself, finger along the waisting.

Galahad shrugged. "Not much, considering."

Cerys smiled as she watched them each test the sword out, swinging it, parrying, flipping it. They really did make a blade look like an extension of themselves, their bodies so used to the movements. It was a nice sword, and worth a sum, she assumed. Practice was the only time she could watch them, and try to understand what they would look like on the battlefield. These knights always looked so happy when working, and she marvelled at their passion sometimes. Did they look this way when arm to arm with a Saxon? She doubted it. Part of her was curious to see that side of her knights; part of her didn't want to see the side that was true hardened killer and warrior.

She stood with her arms crossed and took in the scene for a few more moments. She didn't hear Brinn come up beside her.

"I'd give anything to own a sword like that." He sighed, his eyes wistful.

Cerys started and then smiled. Soon he would need one. Perhaps she should talk to Hywel and find out how much one of those would cost for Brinn. He would need a light one to start, he would never be able to lift that heavy weight. Should she buy one for him? She debated the thought for a moment or two. She would have to ask Arthur what he thought.

"Someday you shall have all the swords you could ever want." She said as she put an arm around his neck and pulled him in, pretending to throttle him. He laughed and squirmed out of her grasp.

"Lancelot left this morning?" She asked quietly as he came back to her side.

Brinn nodded. "He left with Tristan. He wasn't feeling well; I think he got drunk with Gawain last night."

"No doubt, judging from Gawain's pallor this morning." She giggled.

Cerys was sad that she did not get to see him before he left. But it was just a coast run, they would be back tomorrow. Perhaps a day out would be good for he and Tristan. She knew Tristan coveted the coast run. Sometimes she thought he might have a lover out that way that he visited, but she never asked. He always came home refreshed, and sometimes even a bit more talkative.

He would tell if he wanted it known. She thought of the two of them riding together, Tristan's silence meeting Lancelot's exuberance. They were a pair, and it made her smile.

"Winter solstice is in three days." Brinn said suddenly, his hands finding folds in his undertunic and shoving them in. He looked cold, and Cerys furrowed her brow. Did he not have a cloak for winter? She would have to see about getting him some better clothes for the cooler weather.

Cerys turned her thoughts about dinner and the gifts she had to make ready. The usual large feast and dancing was planned, and she had stashed small tokens for everyone under her bed mattress for months in anticipation. Small trinkets, but she couldn't wait to give them.

She decided that she should find some heavy wool and make a cloak for Brinn, since he seemed without. That would be a wonderful gift for him for winter solstice! She brightened, and as Brinn sat and watched the men work; she snuck away, a new purpose to her stride as she made for the clothrooms.

* * *

**Dear Reader:**

Cerys gives before she thinks of herself, which we already know from her behaviour. Winter solstice should be a fun affair, a good break from the dreary weather. More excitement must come beforehand though!

Thank you for your continued enjoyment of my story, and your kind words that keep me so motivated. I hope that I am able to do the same for your stories. I am humbled sometimes as I read other works and think "That's so much better than mine!" But we are our own worst critics, and I must stop that.It is easier to see my work in a good light with your kind praise.

Thank you.

_Cardeia_


	29. Secrets

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the character names, save my own original creations. I do not wish to be compensated for this work, nor do I wish to infringe on any copyrights held by any stakeholders of the movie King Arthur. This work is an original creation, based on the legend of King Arthur and his knights.

* * *

**Chapter 29:** **_Secrets_**

Lancelot looked around the small fishing village they had rode into that evening, once they had made the coast. They had seen nothing on their ride, and had made good time. It was a small place, and smelled of fish and open salt water, the huts wood and wattle. It reminded him of the huts from his childhood. They were always cold in the winter months, and they would stuff the cracks with moss and furs. He imagined here that they would be colder.

They would rest and make for home in the morning.

They weren't really resting, however.

They were sitting at a large community fire, and Tristan was dancing, wine jug out flung, a rus­set-haired beauty held hand in hand as they stepped around the fire. People along the edge yelled out their encouragement, and the girl flipped her hair and laughed, Tristan mirroring her with his own laughter, his blue eyes sparkling in the firelight. Someone had produced a wood pipe, and another was drumming on an upturned pail for their beat. There was laughter and drink all around them, and an air of celebration.

So this was why he always volunteered for the run, Lancelot thought as he drank from his own small jug. He had never seen Tristan dance before. His step was light, and in fact, was very good.

Lancelot thought that Cerys would love to see this, so she could challenge the quiet man. She would enjoy a dance with him. But, he also knew that Tristan did not share this part of his world with them, hence this well kept secret. Not even he had ever seen the man so relaxed in all the years they had spent together. What happened here would be his own tale, if he chose to tell it.

It was a sight to marvel, however, and he watched as Tristan passed the girl off to another man, who picked her up and whirled her in the other direction.

The dance over, he came and sat beside Lancelot, a bit out of breath. He smiled over, took a swig from his jug and clapped Lancelot on the back.

"That one," He pointed then to a large Saxon-looking girl, "Wants to know your name."

"Did you tell her?" Lancelot replied, his eyebrow raising as he looked over to the girl. She winked at him and puffed out her chest. She was pretty, but he immediately thought of Cerys, and how delicate she was compared to this swarthy girl. He realized he was thinking on her again and he made a monumental effort to push her out of his head. Not tonight. Tonight he was not to think on such things.

"I told her you preferred boys."

Lancelot smirked and shook his head, then breaking out into laughter. "You rotten bugger."

Tristan shoved a shoulder into him and they each looked out the corner of their eyes at one an­other, both of them chuckling. This was truly what he needed. A chance to get away and not think of serious things. Relax and enjoy music and a roaring fire on a cool night. He could hear the surf in the distance, and it was a soothing sound.

"Is she yours by rights?" Lancelot asked, nodding his head at the russet-haired girl. Tristan shook his head, sobering a bit.

"Why not?"

"No life for her with me." He stated, drinking again. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stared into the fire.

Lancelot nodded, his hands coming together as he rested his arms on his knees and set his jug down. He knew that feeling so well. He could not get away from her in his mind, even when he tried.

An older woman hobbled over to the two men, and Lancelot got up from his seat to offer it to her. She smiled a toothless grin and he helped her down to the wooden bench, holding her hand. She groaned as she sat, the effort obvious. He sat on her other side, so she could be between Tristan and himself.

"Such nice men to offer an old woman a warm place by the fire." She said, patting Tristan on the knee and then holding her hands to the fire.

"Rhia, this is Lancelot." Tristan said, gesturing to Lancelot. "He came for the ride."

Rhia looked at Lancelot. Her face was gnarled from years of sun and sea, the tattoos on her cheeks faded and folded into the wrinkles. Her grey hair was poking out from under a hood, and he could just make out more tattoos on her arms, snaking up and into the sleeves of her cloak, also much faded. Her eyes, however, still held a sparkle, and made Lancelot smile.

"It is very nice to meet you Rhia." He said as he bobbed his head to her.

She looked at him then, her eyes darting across his face. She tutted with her tongue and put a hand to his chin. She sighed then, and patted him on the knee.

"You are a troubled young man." She said sadly. "I see confusion in your eyes."

Lancelot darted a glance to Tristan, who had stuck his tongue to his top lip in attempt to keep his laughter in check.

"Rhia is the village seer." Tristan said, eyes dancing. "She can see into your soul and tell you what you are thinking."

Lancelot raised an eyebrow. "Seer eh? Tell me Rhia, can you see inside me?"

She shifted a bit in her seat so she was turned towards him. She tilted her head. "I see you are much like this man here." She gestured to Tristan. "You fight well, you kill well."

"We are knights, Lady, we are trained to fight and kill." He replied, an eyebrow raised.

"You are more than mere warrior, are you not?" She said, peering closer to him.

Lancelot sighed. Would this be her insight? That he was this magnificent being that would help the stem the tide, that he was descended from some-or-other of their Gods. He smiled and tilted his head the same as hers.

"We are trained to be such. I am afraid I do not understand your meaning."

She tutted again. "Look into yourself and find another. It is there."

Another what? He never had patience for these riddles, and he was not prepared to think on things such as this when he wished to relax and not think on anything. He sighed and went to rise. Rhia's hand came out to his arm and stopped him.

"This is the source of your confusion, is it not?" She said with more force, her small hand grasp­ing his sleeve. "You see only the killer in your soul."

Lancelot stopped. He looked again to Tristan, who was studiously ignoring their conversation. Had he talked the woman into this? No, he had been with the man most of the time and this was their first meeting. He wrinkled his brow and pressed his lips together. Perhaps this woman could see. She must have some sort of religion in her.

"And what God helps you see this?" He said, defending his pride at being read so well.

"Manawydan is my God." She said. "He lives in me. He is in you."

"Bah! I have no God." Lancelot spat, his eyes turning to the fire.

"But you believe in something."

Lancelot shook his head again, this truly was a strange evening. First he had seen Tristan danc­ing, now he was being berated by an old woman about Gods and seeing into souls. He needed to take a walk, check on the horses.

"I believe in my own ability to live." He said with finality, and rose. "Further than that, I cannot help you."

She shook her head and smiled softly. "Stubborn."

"He is." Tristan snorted.

Lancelot turned and left at that point. He made his way from the fire and towards the picketed horses. Sky was standing, hip rested against Klyndd. Lancelot sat cross-legged at their noses, listening to rustle the hay at their feet. Klyndd snuffed at his knees, then went back to eating, sharing with Tristan's horse the pile they were moving about.

Sky nipped at Klyndd's nose softly, the larger dark horse squealing quietly and shaking his head. Lancelot reached out and tweaked his nose, earning an upturned lip from the horse as he protested the slight from Sky.

"You really are a huge chicken, you know that?" He told his horse as he leaned on his legs and sagged.

"He is beautiful." a voice said from behind him.

Lancelot swivelled to see the russet-haired girl come up behind and sit beside him. He made room for her and she passed him a jug. He drank from it, wiping his chin on his tunic sleeve.

"Thank you." He said. "What's your name?"

"Wynn."

"I am Lancelot, Wynn. It is nice to meet you."

She smiled and took a drink from the jug, setting it between her crossed legs. She held a bit of hay for Sky, who reached out with his lips and grabbed it from her. She touched his nose softly with her fingers.

"Tristan never brings friends." She said suddenly.

"Tristan likes being alone."

She nodded. He could see some sadness in her, and he wondered at their story. How long had she known the knight, he wondered. How long had they been lovers?

"How long has he been coming here?" Lancelot asked.

Wynn thought quietly for a moment. "Three, no... four years, I think. He stays for one night and then rides home again. You are one of the knights he tells us of, are you not?"

"Tristan talks?"

"Oh yes! He tells the most wonderful stories of your battles, the stories of how you used to fight for Rome. I am glad he serves the King now. It is very noble." She replied, her voice happy at the thought.

"He doesn't speak much with us, never has. When we were in training and newly conscripted, we thought he had no tongue, he did not speak for years."

"He never spoke here until I urged him to tell us of his life." She said softly. "Tell me, who is Cerys? He speaks of her sometimes."

Lancelot groaned and rubbed his face. There was no peace this night from his torment. The girl made it obvious she cared for the man, by asking about the only other woman that Tristan would have in his life. Of what did he talk about Cerys?

"Cerys is the King's cousin, and our friend. She is close to Tristan as a sister more than any­thing." He sighed. She was going to make him talk about her. He resigned himself to it.

"Oh." She said, her eyes darting off, relief showing on her face. "She is a wife to one of the other knights then?"

Lancelot shook his head as pictures of Cerys drifted into his mind. He could see her, standing; hold his hands, drinking from her cup, her eyes dancing, and her hair wild about her head. He got lost in his own thoughts for a moment as he remembered their kiss.

He missed her at that moment, and he felt very lonely.

He blinked and looked up to Wynn, and felt a wave of regret for Tristan. She was a beautiful girl.

"No, she is not." He looked away, swallowing hard. Damn, why had that admission upset him so much?

They sat for a few moments together, in silence. She sighed and brushed her hand through the hay, fluffing it, grasping at bits, pushing it up to the horse's noses. Klyndd cleared his nose and kicked it back to her, and she repeated the process, pushing it back under his nose.

"Do you love him?" Lancelot asked, not understanding why he asked. For some reason, he wanted to know. It was a mystery to him, this side of Tristan.

Her eyes were sad, her face in the moonlight showing him the answer without any words spoken.

He didn't respond, and they sat in silence, sharing the jug for a moment more. Lancelot heard footsteps behind him, familiar from years together.

"Tristan." He said without turning.

Tristan looked to Wynn, sitting cross-legged beside his horse and his friend. He swayed slightly, the drink showing in his face. He heaved himself down to the ground beside her, his arm going out around her shoulders, his legs braced out in front of him, his knees bent. She leaned into him, burying her face to the crook of his neck. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply.

Lancelot rose from his seat to head back towards the fire. He felt a bit in the way now.

He nodded to Tristan as he rose and their eyes met. Tristan raised a hand and clasped Lancelot's, his grip firm and his eyes set hard. A look of understanding passed between them and Lancelot let go and turned away.

Tristan blinked and then turned his attention to the woman in his arms. She may not have been his by rights, but he loved her, that was evident from the look on his face as she had come close to him. He was happy to be with her, but it was happy and pained in one breath.

Lancelot walked away, his own heart heavy at his friend's sadness and his own dilemma.

* * *

**Dear Reader**:

Alright, I hope I have not made too many Tristan fans say "huh?".

I hope truly that this was an enjoyable chapter for you. I enjoyed writing this side of Tristan. Tristan knew that Lancelot needed to get out and clear his head of Cerys, and it means sharing his secret. Perhaps Tristan is ready to let it out that he does feel? Did killing that girl change his mind, thus letting him share a coast run with someone else? Of all people, perhaps Lancelot will understand since he too is loving a woman he thinks he cannot have, or is afraid to have. Perhaps Tristan understands that Lancelot needs to see that he understands and this is a way to show him? Or is there another reason...

I am looking forward to the reviews for this chapter. Ailis-70, this one is for you. Tristan is passionate, I see that in your story, and it inspired me.

_Cardeia_


	30. Gift of Understanding

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the character names, save my own original creations. I do not wish to be compensated for this work, nor do I wish to infringe on any copyrights held by any stakeholders of the movie King Arthur. This work is an original creation, based on the legend of King Arthur and his knights.

* * *

**Scribe Notes:**

_All:_ The reviews I have gotten for these two chapters has truly been overwhelming! I want to say here that I appreciate each and every review I get, and I love the interpretations you have of my work. From these reviews, I have created five more chapters. All of you truly do move my pen. Here is the next one, ready to post.

_Ailis-70:_ You are welcome. You see that Tristan and Lancelot are not as different, as do I. Secrets such as this are not bad, and Tristan may yet divulge them to others. I am so very gald that I was able to make you happy with my chapter. It was part of my intention! I am anxiously awaiting the next installment of your story.

_Nitestar:_ thank you for your kind words! My talent? That is a wonderful compliment! Writing is my passion, my profession and a lifelong ambition to be better. Emotions are the most important part of being a writer. If you cannot feel what your character feels, the words and actions are hollow. I feel when I write these passages. It's exhausting, but so therapeutic. That is part of why I write. It makes me better.

_Sokorra Lewis:_ It is our actions, and the fear of making the wrong decision that often puts us into that wrong decision. I had a friend who once told me "You can make a right decision, and you can make a wrong decision. but you cannot live with indecision." I believe that.

Wrong helps us see what is right, and strive for it. As you can see, our pair are quickly being overwhelmed at not making a decision to voice and show their love openly. It's the decision to do so that they fear, and the fear that it will be the wrong one when they make it. How many times I have done this in my real life, I cannot even begin to count. Thank you for your compliments!

_LovelyHeidi:_ Busy is good! Busy keeps us moving and alive! I do not mind. Thank you for continuing to read! Here isa pivotal chapter for you to nourish the quiet side of your busy life.

_Calliann:_ Rhia does help Lancelot, as this chapter will show. Tristan's help will come soon, don't want to give it away! I am glad you enjoyed them, and as always I enjoy your enthusiasm! Thank you!

_Lilstrummrgrl527:_ Yes, Cerys is great at denial. All through this story she has been the queen of such.Not lovers to each other yet, but to everyone else around them, they have been for some time. The fun part of this is writing the reactions of their friends around them, to their seeming blindness to it.

_et cetera et cetera:_ Thank you for your reviews! I am very glad you enjoyed and hope that you continue to do so! These men feel so deeply, and would perhaps be the equivalent to today's adrenalin junkies. An emotion is intensified simply because of the way they live. I have tried to portray that, without giving them a metrosexual feel. Men did not confide their feelings directly then. They do so with humour, anger, and actions with one another.

_History2:_ I shall say it again. You get me.

Cerys' father was a knight with Arthur's father, and as such, was a big part of how she views her knights. This I want to bring in more soon. it's exciting this part of the story and I can't wait to share it!

I wanted to develop Tristan a bit, the Tristan-centred fics I am reading here, especially Ailis-70's,have piqued my interest. It's a side story, but I hope to have it help Lancelot in this way, showing him that he's not the only one with doubts about his character, and his idea that he does not deserve. Wynn is important to Tristan, but he is not ready to show her the side of him that exists at the fort. he is afraid it will make her not want him.

Thank you for your review. I treasure them, they give me insight into my own writing and it helps!

* * *

**Chapter 30: _Gift of Understanding_**

Rhia was still sitting by the fire when Lancelot returned. She was holding a young child on her lap and telling him a story, her thumb and forefingers alternately twisting on top of each other as she climbed an imaginary rope with them. Lancelot sat on a bench close to them and watched.

The fire was casting lights across the young child's face, his joy in the story evident. Rhia's eyes were sparkling as she spoke in their native tongue. The child clapped.

Rhia glanced up and caught Lancelot's eyes. He cleared his throat, and looked to the fire, em­barrassed at his open staring of them. For some reason that child's face was entrancing.

He decided that he had drank too much of their strong wine. He perhaps needed to find a soft spot and sleep.

"Knight, you have intelligent eyes, yet you have trouble seeing." She said as she patted the child's bottom and sent him on his way.

He wrinkled his mouth and looked up to her. He felt lost this evening.

"And what should I be seeing Rhia? I fear I do not know what I should be looking for."

She chuckled and leaned back behind her to grasp a small deerskin bag. She rose slowly, hands on her thighs, and sat beside him on his bench, patting his knee once she was settled. Lancelot thought to Cerys yet again, and how she was always patting knees and thighs when she was sit­ting with the men.

She opened the top drawstring once it was on her lap and she rummaged slowly, muttering under her breath in her own language. Small sounds of objects rattling together came out of the bag.

"Is this your bag of tricks?" Lancelot asked, peering in. She chuckled again.

"Just an old woman's belongings. Nothing more. Here they are..."

Rhia made a happy noise as she pulled out a set of hair pins. They were curved and smooth, carved from what looked to be deer horn. Flat and wide at one end, then tapering to a fine point at the other. They were a brilliant shade of blue, dyed from what Lancelot assumed was woad.

They were beautiful and intricate. He had never seen anything like them.

"These were made for me by my husband." She said sadly, turning the pins in her old hands, rubbing them fondly with her thumb. "He carved them from a stag he killed, when we were young."

Lancelot watched her turn them sideways and run her fingers over the length of them lovingly. He could see intricate carvings when the sides were held together properly, what looked to be lettering. He tilted his head to see it more clearly as she did so.

"What does that say?" He pointed to the wording.

"Knight and Lover as One."

Lancelot smiled softly. "He must have loved you a great deal."

Rhia nodded, her old eyes misty for a moment, remembering. She grunted and sniffed, holding the pins out in the firelight. She put the two flat sides together so that they joined to reveal a new carving. Lancelot looked with amazement as the lion head he wore as an emblem on his riding armour stared out at him.

"So, knight, what do you see? " Rhia asked quietly as Lancelot looked. He squinted and moved his head closer to see the carvings.

Rhia flipped them over and lined up the flat sides again. This time they showed a cameo of a woman. Lancelot blinked.

He looked at Rhia and then back at the pins she was holding together in front of the fire. His mind was playing tricks on him, it was late and he had drunk too much wine. Either that or...

Lancelot took in a sharp breath as Rhia nodded her head.

"I may be a seer in some things, but not all. Only you can interpret what your eyes see. These hair pins, I think they may be the start of your journey."

Lancelot gently took the pins out of her hands and held them in front of him, holding the flat sides together. He flipped them back and forth a few times, not understanding.

"Your husband carved these?" He asked. "How could he have seen this?" He pointed to his crest.

Rhia chuckled. "I saw you ride in and recognized it. My husband worked as an armourer for your King's father before returning to this village with me to live out our days with our family. That is his work." She reached over and tapped a finger on his chest where the same lion looked out.

Lancelot suddenly remembered the old man who had made his first set of crests, and he stopped and remembered. Sabin-something-or-other, wasn't it? A retired knight who took up making ar­mour at the fort. Gods, the world they lived in was small.

"Sabin?" He asked. Rhia nodded.

He was a kind man from what Lancelot could remember, and had given Lancelot the pick of the emblems in his stores. Lancelot had picked the lion. It had looked magnificent, and as an arro­gant young man faced with a long career fighting, he had wanted to look as ferocious as possi­ble. So Sabin had made his greaves and crest up with the same lion, and ever since, it was Lancelot's signature.

When Sabin had left, Lancelot had learned to recreate the crest himself for when it needed to be repaired. It was relaxing and exhausting work, beating heated bronze into a clay mould he would carve out. Then, waiting, and cracking off the wood and mud to reveal the piece.

Frivolous, he always thought, but interesting work to take the mind off other things when be­tween battles. He was looking forward to spending some time with Hywel and his apprentice. He had some new ideas he wanted to try this winter. Hywel would use the pieces he created to put on shields, armour and even decorations for walls. Cerys had a small disc with the relief of a tree punched into it, that Lancelot had made the previous winter. He had given it to her at last winter solstice.

She had hung it on her wall above her bed, and said it caught the morning light and shone on the opposite wall. She had loved it.

He blinked away the memory. This still did not explain the girl on the other side. He flipped the pins over again.

"But what of this? I do not understand how she could be on these pins."

"Ahh. You see someone? Someone special?"

Lancelot nodded, his brow furrowing. "Rhia, if these were for you, then this should be your face I see."

She nodded and again patted his thigh. She sighed deeply and rose, her hips creaking as she stood. Lancelot handed the pins up to her but she put her hands up.

"No. Keep them. I think you have a better use for them than I. My hair is much too thin now to hold pins such as those." Her eyes crinkled and she bobbed her head.

"But..." he began.

"No knight, they hold meaning for you. I told you, my task is not to tell you what will happen, only to guide your thoughts, then let you interpret them. Your understanding is yours to act on as you see fit."

Rhia picked up her bag and pulled the drawstring closed. "Thank you for your company this night. You have made an old woman happy to remember her husband."

Lancelot was turning the pins over and over in his hands. Incredible. He was a bit overwhelmed at the evening, and this bizarre meeting had made him weary of thinking.

"These... Are you sure you do not with to keep them? Give them to your daughters? Your sons for their wives?"

"I have none to give them to. Sabin would have wanted to see them go to someone he respected. Your lions showed me that you were, by him. They are yours to give to her." She pointed to the relief of the girl that Lancelot had again brought together with the flat sides of the pins.

'I still don't understand how..." He faltered.

Rhia smiled and rested a hand on his shoulder. He looked up to her and she winked, then turned away.

"Knight, look inside yourself and see around the fighter and killer. Then you will be able to un­derstand that anything is possible." She chuckled, and disappeared into the darkness.

Lancelot sat until morning, holding the pins in his hand. He just kept turning them over and over, reading the inscription, looking at the lion. Staring at her face.

Knight and Lover as One.

* * *

**Dear Reader:**

There is always a point at which we suddenly see. Lancelot saw his love for Cerys when in his rooms with her. She saw when on the wall. The rest saw long ago. Will this be enough to make Lancelot give in and act on his love? Rhia sees, and she pushed. She should push Tristan too, or has she and he is just more stubborn? I leave that to your imaginations.

As always, thank you for your time and I look forward to your reviews!

_Cardeia_


	31. Prankster as Saviour

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the character names, save my own original creations. I do not wish to be compensated for this work, nor do I wish to infringe on any copyrights held by any stakeholders of the movie King Arthur. This work is an original creation, based on the legend of King Arthur and his knights.

* * *

**Scribe Notes:**

_All:_ Faster than a blink, I had 8 reviews in my inbox! Wow... so, since you have all waited anxiously, here is the next chapter. Now on to comments:

_lilstrummrgrl527:_ Now don't do anything rash. (grin) You are anxious because you can feel the tension building! I promise to ease it soon. Next we have a fun chapter to add some new tension into the fray for poor Cerys. So belay jumping off battlements for a few more chapters and I promise you will not want to.

_Sokorra Lewis:_ Thank you! the connection is interesting and I can't wait to fill it in more for you. She has seen so much that for her, if he chooses not to follow his own thoughts and look beyond himself, it was not for lack ofher trying. Cerys does get thinking, but not in the same way that Lancelot is shocked into it.

_Calliann:_ Thank you for your kind words. It means much to me to have you tell me you like my writing style. I sometimes find it a bit different than others, and I wonder if I should change it. I try, but I think it is the way I am. (grin). The hairpins I have had in my head since the beginning of the story, when I have Cerys dancing with Lancelot. I wanted her to be wearing pins he gave her. But, it didn't fit with their slow-burn realizations. This fit much better and I can have much more fun with connections!

_Burnt Alice:_ No apology needed! Busy means that you are living life! I am glad you have enjoyed my story and are able to take a few moments to catch up. I like your idea about having Tristan come to Cerys, and I am ahead of you! Not in the way you think, but you will hopefully like his admission to his softer side. I promise to post it soon.

Do not sell yourself short. You write well. Believe in yourself and your abilities to bring life to your characters and you will shine! I know you can do it, and the best thing to do is just breathe in and out and let your fingers and mind's eye control your editor brain. Let it come out and worry about it after you have poured it out emotionally on the page.

I am looking forward to more Leila and Tristan and Lancelot in your story, the Hawk's Cry.

_Ailis-70:_ I will repeat what I just typed for Burnt Alice. Do not sell yourself short! The depth and emotion that you gave Tristan and Teagan are what inspired me to give Tristan his own side-plot! The way you give him his twisted thoughts, and the way you bring out the depth of his emotions is truly wonderful! Do not even think for a moment that what you are writing is wrong. He will come to grips, she will heal and they will find each other again. But what they go through now is necessary. I love your story the way it is. don't change it.

I used to ride competitively as a junior in horse trials. There was an elderly woman who still rode, in her 80's, and would gallop across country, jumping fences just as good as us "young'uns". I can remember her sitting and chatting while we waited at the horse trailer one day and being completely amazed by this woman. I asked her how she did it. She looked at me, and with a wink in her eye said "You have intelligent eyes. You figure it out and when you are my age, you will know." To this day, I still don't understand, but I think it have something to do with passion and knowing yourself well enough to let yourself do the things you want to do without fear of the consequences. She is still riding today, even in her 90's. She is Rhia.

And Tristan will get his shove. He may even shove himself! (wink).

* * *

**Chapter 31: _Prankster as Saviour_**

"That tastes wonderful! Whatever is in it?"

The older woman smiled as Cerys took another sip from the wooden spoon held to her lips. She rubbed them together, savouring the broth she was trying, in anticipation for tomorrow's winter solstice celebration. She handed the spoon back to the woman and smiled.

"Tis just some chicken bones with some savory, and some of them dried chives." The woman answered.

"Well it will be perfect. Do you need any more stones to put in the stock?"

The woman shook her head and wiped her hands on her apron. Cerys smiled and nodded, and let the woman get back to her work. She lightly ran fingers over the smooth river stones sitting on the table, standing ready to get dropped into the pot when it was re-boiled tomorrow.

Her mind went to bringing up the wine from the stores, and she pulled out a tally stick to check. Yes, all were counted.

She went out the door for a moment, looking towards the afternoon sky. Lancelot and Tristan would be due back soon, and she was looking forward to seeing them that evening. She was an­ticipating a nice quiet meal and perhaps an early evening with Brinn, reading. She also needed to stop by and make sure that there was enough wood to man the braziers for the evening. Oh, and the tanners to see about that swatch of leather for her bow. Oh, and the...

Cerys got lost in chores, mentally tallying up the things she needed to see to before the day was done. She paced as she counted and recounted tallies. She felt excited at the prospect of the cel­ebration. She loved winter solstice! Everything was in place, and perhaps this evening she could finish Brinn's cloak as well, and gather together her gifts!

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Octus striding towards her. Blast, he was going to make her good mood foul quickly with another of his demands. She was surprised at how the man had gone from grateful guest to annoying General so quickly. She mused that he may find Vindo­landa an easier place to live. From reports though, they were choc-a-bloc with people displaced from burnt crops as well.

She sighed and turned as he stopped in front of her.

"Lady, I have a request."

"Yes Octus? How can I be of help this afternoon?" She asked, her voice level. She hoped it was not for more food to be brought out, or more time in the armoury. It had been hard enough get­ting them to agree to use the baths on a schedule! Romans... she thought suddenly and almost laughed out loud. Was she not such?

Not anymore, she realized.

He scratched his head. "I need to speak with Arthur. I cannot find him. I fear my men are be­coming languid and I need his counsel."

Cerys was relieved. Arthur would have been waiting for such an opportunity to give Octus and his men something to do. They could patrol the boundaries, they could spend some time re-but­tressing some of the outside walls, there was plenty to do! She smiled her best smile and took his arm.

"Of course! He spends his afternoons sometimes in his apartments. We shall go and find out if he is able to see you."

As she walked with Octus, they chatted a bit on the weather and other idle, polite talk.

"Are you looking forward to returning to your home in the Spring?" she asked.

he nodded and looked down to her. He cleared his throat.

"Yes, I am. It will be a welcome sight. We have much rebuilding to do, and I am anxious to start."

Cerys made a sound and bobbed her head to agree with him. The knights had told her of the place, and how badly it had been ransacked. Octus must have been quite upset.

"However," He continued, "I will be going back without my wife. It will be a bit empty there without the women to run the kitchens and keep my rooms warm."

"Your wife?" Cerys asked. She had not remembered a woman coming in with Octus and his men. She furrowed her brow and looked to him.

"She was killed when the stronghold was sacked."

"I am sorry." Cerys muttered. She immediately felt sorry for the frustration she had directed towards Octus. He most certainly was adjusting to a new life without his loved ones. She patted his arm with her hand and he smiled.

"All is well. I shall find a new wife in time. There are plenty of years left to live happily." He said as his eyes scanned her.

Cerys took it back, along with her arm.

That was not exactly the thing a man in mourning for his spouse should say. He was looking at her like a dog looks at a fresh beef bone, and she shuddered.

She reconfirmed her notion that he was truly Roman. She much preferred the knights and their unstructured beliefs to this strict upbringing of duty to Rome and their harsh ideas of life. Her knights had a sense of duty, yes, but they were able to live around it, not live for it!

They arrived at the doors to Arthur's rooms, and she knocked quietly, three times hard, three times soft.

Long ago, she had developed a signal for Arthur to say that she was not alone, and that he should come to the door. So many dignitaries, religious men, generals and such had come through the fort in the years they had been together that it made the code necessary. If she was alone, she would knock heavily five times, slowly. The only other knock she used was six rapid knocks, which was for emergencies. Once she had used that knock and he had run out in just his trews, which had fallen to the ground the moment he stepped outside the door. It was the source of much teasing from the men, who had gathered to discuss an imminent attack. Arthur may be a fearsome man on the battle field, but could still blush like a shy woman when embarrassed.

She knew they had a moment, he would dress himself if he was not formal, based on her knock.

The door cracked open, and Guinevere stuck her head out. "Cerys." She whispered.

"Octus needs to speak with Arthur." Cerys whispered back.

"He's... ahh... sleeping. Can you wait a few moments for me to wake him and let him dress?"

Octus cleared his throat and rocked on his heels, looking anywhere but at Guinevere. It was then that Cerys noticed her bare shoulder, and a fur clutched to her chest.

Cerys bit her lip and her eyes danced with mirth. Sleeping? I think not, she thought to herself.

"Of course, we will go to the hall. Arthur can meet us there?"

Guinevere nodded and with a quick glance to Octus, closed the door. Cerys turned, and with a smile to the General, gestured out ahead of her towards the hall.

"May I offer you a warm waiting spot?" She said, amusement evident in her voice.

Octus looked sternly towards the door and nodded. "Very poor character, sleeping during the day. He should be out working his troops."

Cerys didn't bother to answer. She was quite positive this man had never been in love in his life and would not understand what Arthur and Guinevere had with each other. She felt a pang of loneliness right then, despite the unpleasant company. She was looking forward to seeing Lancelot, sharing a drink. She blinked. She must keep her thoughts to her tasks today!

As she walked towards the hall, she saw Brinn running for the stables. He was smiling, his dark hair flying about as he ran.

"Brinn! What is your hurry?" She called out after him. How that boy could make her smile just by his own happiness!

"Lancelot and Tristan are back!" He yelled as he continued on his path. "I have to try and make the stable before they do! I met them on the wall."

Cerys laughed and waved to him as he shot off again. She returned to Octus and shook her head.

"He is such an enthusiastic boy." She said. She was also relieved. They were home safe again.

Octus grunted and they moved off towards the hall. Once inside, she offered him some wine and a cushion to sit. He seemed uncomfortable in the hall, and put a hand to the table.

"This table, it is so very different."

"It is our round table. Very convenient to see everyone when talking." She smiled. It was a huge thing, taking nearly a hundred paces to walk around the outside, and could seat a hundred or more men right at it. The space in the large wood hall was capable of holding three times that, and the braziers in the corner burned brightly, ready for the dinner and socializing that came every night at the fort. Cerys was sure he had never seen the like, and she rubbed the edge fond­ly. She did truly love this table; it was such an integral part to their home.

He looked for a chair, and finding none, stood, his arms folded, his legs slightly apart.

"Would you care to sit, Octus?" She repeated as she returned from the side of the hall, handing him a full goblet of wine.

He shook his head and regarded her. "Was that boy your son?"

What business was it of his? She thought suddenly, but didn't voice it. This man was making her edgy and she was being defensive. She shook her head.

"Brinn? No, he is Lancelot's squire. He was an orphan, and he stays with me and also helps me with my chores."

"You are not spoken for?" He asked again, coming closer to her. She backed up a step. This was quickly becoming uncomfortable. She did not respond.

Octus set his goblet, untouched, down on the table and walked towards her. She continued to back up until she was against the table. She was beginning to shake, and she felt afraid. What did this man want with her? She felt her skin crawl as he reached out and trailed a finger down her cheek and twisted a lock of her hair around his finger. She could only stand frozen as he licked his lips.

"You would look very nice in my bed, Lady." He said softly, a husky tone coming to his voice. "I shall have to speak with Arthur about you."

Cerys was going to be sick in a moment and could feel her stomach heaving. Octus continued to wind her hair about his finger, and he stepped in closer, his breath now on her skin. It was making her skin crawl further, and she leaned away from him and looked wildly about her for a place to run.

She was trapped. Bloody Hells.

"Please, Octus, this is not the time or place..." She began.

"Love, there you are!" Came a voice from the doorway.

Cerys turned to see Perceval wading towards her, a mischievous look to his eye. He winked. She looked at him and suddenly saw her escape.

'Darling!" She cried, running towards him and putting her arms about his neck. He lifted her up and she laughed heartily. Octus stepped back and took up his goblet once more, attempting to smooth his appearance to that of calm General.

"Thank the Gods you are here. Help me!" She whispered in to his ear through his long brown hair. He chuckled softly and put her down.

"I have been looking all over for you! Where have you been?" He said loudly, overplaying the part and making her want to smack him. Perceval could be so dramatic!

"I was seeing to our guest. Arthur is to join us." She said, pouting now.

This fiction would be fun, perhaps. Easier than having Perceval accost the General and ending up fighting, then causing an even bigger problem. She smiled again, tilting her head sideways and pretending to be enthralled with him. She batted her eyelashes and he gave her an amused look.

"I see. Well, come and see to your lover. I have missed you, with your hands so tender, your eyes so soft, and your…"

She did smack him on the arm at that point. "Now is not the time for a lover's speech, my dar­ling." She warned through her teeth, good naturedly.

He smiled and put an arm around her waist, not missing an opportunity to pinch her bottom. She yelped and jumped. She would get him for that later. He was such a prankster; Perceval was, missing no opportunity.

"Octus, may I leave you to your wine to wait for Arthur? It seems I have other... err... Duties to attend to."

Octus nodded, his face set in a frown. Cerys wished she could belt the man across his horrible face. Perceval had truly come just in time.

They exited the hall as fast as they could, Perceval dragging her out by the hand. As soon as they were in the common, they both burst out laughing, doubled over from the effort. Despite the situation, Cerys was quite amused with the turn of events.

"Oh Perceval, thank you!" She managed between breaths. "He is truly a disgusting man. His wife is barely in the ground and he paws at me."

Perceval wiped his eyes and laughed once more, leaning on a table. "Truly he is not your type, Cerys. I would think you preferred men your own age at least."

"Who isn't?"

Cerys turned and her heart flipped as Lancelot walked into view. She furrowed her brow then as he joined them. He looked tired, dark circles under his eyes. He looked rumpled in his riding armour, stiff. Had something happened on the run?

"Lancelot!" Perceval said, and clapped the man on the shoulder. Lancelot didn't look at him, but kept his eyes to Cerys.

"Who isn't?" He repeated.

"Oh, it's nothing. I was with Octus in the hall and he made an advance on me. Horrible man, he is." She said, shuddering. "Perceval came in pretending to be my lover and rescued me before that... that man was able to do anything."

Lancelot looked at Perceval, then at Cerys, both of whom were still giggling. Cerys had her hand to her chest. She tilted her head. He was not right. Something was wrong.

"Are you alright?" she said as she put a hand out to him.

He licked his lips and sighed. Perceval then too noticed his tiredness.

"Cerys, truly I was looking for a cup of wine when I came in. I should see to finding a drink and perhaps a warmer tunic before I rejoin you." Perceval said, bowing grandly in her direction.

Cerys smiled and gave the knight a hug. She would speak with Arthur on this later. She would not want to have dealings with Octus again.

"Thank you Perceval, your timing was perfect. I am glad nothing more came out of the situation or it would be headache for all of us." She said happily as she gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. He wiggled his eyebrows to her, grabbed her about her waist and dipped her over back­wards. He gave her a light peck on her own cheek. She laughed again. He was unbearable, truly!

"You will let me finish my lover's speech about your body later?" He asked, still holding her over backwards.

She swatted his arm again as he let her to her feet. He grinned.

Perceval put a hand to Lancelot's shoulder as he passed.

"Now it's your turn to take over and be the real thing." He said lowly, so Cerys would not hear. He met Lancelot's eyes, dead serious, all jesting from their acting episode gone.

Lancelot could only blink and look after his friend as he walked away.

* * *

**Dear Reader:**

Oh my! Here we get a glimpse of Perceval, whom I replaced Dagonet with. Perceval is a mix of my very own sweetheart, and a man where I work that makes me laugh every day with his facial expressions and humorous monologues.

Percevalmay seem a bit like a "ne'er-do-well" Lancelot rendition, but I wanted to give him more of a young feel, less bitterness. It seemed fitting to have Perceval play the fiction, since he can do so without any regret. He and Bors are the most well adjusted of the 7, with Arthur coming in behind, and Galahad striding up as we speak. I may bring him into another story again this way, I am not sure yet.

Onward and upward. I have been working furiously today, and I cannot wait to post the next chapter when it becomes ready.

Thank you for your wonderful words and encouragement. It's exciting to know that I have your attention, dear reader, and your interest in Cerys and her love of Lancelot. As I have said many times, each time meaning it truly, your words help move my pen.

_Cardeia_


	32. Sleeping in Armour

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the character names, save my own original creations. I do not wish to be compensated for this work, nor do I wish to infringe on any copyrights held by any stakeholders of the movie King Arthur. This work is an original creation, based on the legend of King Arthur and his knights.

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**Scribe Notes:**

_All:_ Ok, Ok... Here is another chapter for everyone. My email keeps beeping at me every time I sit down in front of my computer today! I have another ready so here you go! 14 reviews in one day... eiow!

_Sokorra Lewis:_ It is too hot! I was mucking stalls today and sweating. Ugh. Glad I couldmake your day with a fun chapter. I enjoyed writing it too!

_Lilstrummrgrl527:_ Perceval is a good friend to Cerys, and to Lancelot. I like working with his personality, its always a fun time.

_Ailis-70:_ I used to play amateur paintball, and I had a whole team of men jsut like Perceval in some way,that I played with from time to time. Fun-loving and goofballs, and so much fun to be with. I did leave a cliffhanger, but here is the resolution for you. Couldn't leave you folks hanging forever!

_Calliann:_ Your review had me giggling! You weren't truly yelling were you? Thank you, I appreciate what you write in your reviews. I will try my hardest to keep my tone. Here is the next chapter for you!

_Babaksmiles:_ Yes, beef bone is right. Brings me back to the days when I used to go clubbing (I am getting old, I tells ya) and the men would leer. Ugh... I can't for the life of me think why I let myself be looked at that way. But back then, it was fun. Octus turned from grateful man to annoying house guest, one who thinks he should get his way. It was fun to have Perceval rescue her, and I enjoyed writing that scene as I played it in my head. I am glad you enjoyed the chapter and I present another for you today!

* * *

**Chapter 32: _Sleeping in Armour_**

Cerys looked at Lancelot. He was standing there, lookingas ifhe was ready to fall over. His shoulders were slumped; his normally bright eyes were leaden.

She stepped over to him. He had not had any reaction to her news of Octus, which normally would have sent him into a frenzy, wanting to do unspeakable things to the man's innards, flay him alive, that sort of nonsense. This wasn't the first time her honour had been challenged.

For once, she wasn't quite sure which she preferred. That no one would cause a stir about that man's horrible intentions, or that Lancelot was not keen to defend her. He must be very tired, she concluded.

"How was the run? Any signs?" She said, willing him to speak. "You look wrung out."

He turned his head slowly to her and ran a hand over his face. He looked behind him, and seeing a bench, sat heavily.

"No, no movement. I just did not sleep is all. I am bloody tired."

Cerys sat beside him. She felt relieved at that. She had been worried when she saw him come in and he wasn't his usual boisterous self. She patted his thigh. Some wine and light banter would do him good.

"Good. Now that the nastiness is behind us, let's have some wine." She said as she stood again, pulling his hand up.

Lancelot shook his head. Cerys frowned. Perhaps he needed some time in his own bed before dinner. She wanted to put her arms about him at that moment, and comfort him. Strangely enough, she wanted to hold him and not let go. She was always worried about him, he was her best friend, but this felt different. This was pulling her heart.

"Alright. Let me walk with you to your rooms and shove you to your bed?"

Lancelot smirked, Cerys not realizing what she had just said could be construed differently than a friendly gesture. He then stood himself, slowly, groaning at the effort.

"Gods, a sleep until dinner may do me some good. You are right."

Lancelot reached a hand out from where he was and pulled Cerys by the waist, to him. He en­folded her in his arms, sighing as he did so. He smelled of horses, sweat and leather. Such won­derful smells of him, she thought.

She breathed in and relaxed, her arms finding a path around his waist, her ear to his chest. She felt his lips on the top of her head again and her stomach flipped. This was what she wanted but she was... was what? She didn't know.

"I missed you." He mumbled through her hair, his arms tightening for a heartbeat. He broke the embrace.

Cerys could feel tears coming to her eyes and she forced them to go away. She always missed him when he was away, but his words were bringing her emotions up now. She loved this man so much, she now realized.

So much that simple words could make her heart break in two.

"And I you." She said thickly, averting her eyes from his so that she could will them to stop watering. She took his hand again and they walked away from the common towards his rooms, silently enjoying each others closeness. They reached his door and stopped. He turned to open the latch, his hand resting heavily on it, his shoulders sagging. He was still wearing his riding armour, and it creaked as he moved about slightly.

"Cerys, if that man ever lays a hand on you again I will gut him, do you understand?" Lancelot said slowly, turning around to look at her. His eyes were serious, his jaw set. "I'm just too tired to do it right this moment.'

So he had caught it. Cerys smiled and winked.

"Of that, dear knight, I have no doubt."

With that, he too winked tiredly, opened his door and stepped inside.

Cerys smiled as he closed the door behind him, and then giggled as she heard him hit his bed, armour and all, with a resounding clang and thump together.

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Lancelot woke, cursing himself for falling asleep before he could get his armour off. He had been so tired. Not sleeping the night before was a stupid thing to do. If only his mind had let him. Damn that old woman and her memory making him think of her all night!

He heaved himself to a sitting position and twisted his back about. He felt rotten for leaving his armour on so long. He mused that he could go for days out on a horse not changing, but this armour became insufferable the moment he would get back to home. He supposed that comfort became more of an issue once safely within the walls. He rubbed his face with a hand and stretched his jaw out. He needed a trim on his beard.

He reached inside his cuirass and pulled out the hair pins. He smoothed them under his hands, looking at them. He could see them; sticking out of the knot she would twist them up in, her hair falling out around them. He blinked and stretched, putting the pins down on the bed beside him. Damn...

He heaved off his greaves, then his boots. He undid his arming points and his cuirass and shoul­der-plates dropped to the floor with a smash. He rose and stepped over them, untying his vam­braces, which joined the armour on the floor. He stripped off his arming doublet, belt and chain mail, then his undertunic. It felt so good to get the layers off that he just stood for a moment and let the lack of weight on his body soak into him.

The cool air in his room hit his bare flesh, sending up goosebumps. He ignored them as he slow­ly stripped off his leather studded trews. He flexed his muscles tiredly. What he would not give for a massage at the baths that instant was beyond him.

A knock at the door made him grab for a set of linen trews, which he hastily tied. He smoothed a hand through his rumpled hair and padded to the door.

He opened the door. Arthur.

He would want a full report, and Lancelot had not formulated one yet. He was debating whether or not to tell the man about Tristan's alternate world. He should know, but he was loathe to give away something that was obviously precious to Tristan, and kept secret from the rest of them for so long.

"Arthur. Come in."

Arthur stepped into the room and looked around at the mess across the floors, the dustiness, the unused hearth. He cleared his throat and looked to Lancelot, setting down his lantern.

"What? Most nights I do not sleep here, save a few. What is the point in decorating?" He snapped as he walked over and rummaged through random things in a chest. He found a tunic and pulled it over his head.

"How was the run?" Arthur replied, a slight hint of amusement in his eyes. "Did you have a good evening with Tristan?"

Lancelot's head snapped up and he narrowed his eyes at Arthur. "What do you mean by that?"

Arthur chuckled and picked up Lancelot's cuirass, hefting it in his hand. "How is old Sabin? Did you meet Wynn?"

"You know?" Lancelot said slowly. He sighed and dropped a balled up set of linen rags in his hand into the chest on top of whatever else was in there.

Arthur nodded. "Tristan has been doing the run for four years. Do you not think that I have other eyes that would tell me of what happens in the outskirts of my own area?"

It was Lancelot's turn to chuckle. "Friend, I would not doubt it." He smiled then, and came over and they grasped each others hands in friendship, Arthur's other hand patting hisshoulder. They regarded each other for a moment, smiling. Each knew how much it meant to Tristan to keep it quiet. Of course he would have known. Lancelot was being daft.

Arthur must have known that Lancelot could use the night to relax, or he would have kept him home. He shook his head ruefully, his sideways grin on his face.

"I spoke with Rhia. I believe Sabin has passed away." He said. "Wynn is lovely, and Tristan is an ass for not claiming her."

They spoke for a few more moments on the run, Lancelot filling in much of a similar story to Tristan's, which he assumed the scout would have already given. Lancelot left out the part of Rhia's hair pins, and staying by the fire all night, thinking on Cerys and trying to decide what to do. That wasn't really needed. He continued to clean his belongings a bit, and found a leather overtunic he could wear for the evening and not be cold.

Arthur turned and sat on the edge of Lancelot's bed. He noticed the pins and picked them up.

"What are these?" He said as he turned them in his hands. "They're beautiful!"

Lancelot watched as he brought the two flat sides together and tilted his head to see the lion. He laughed.

"Sabin's lion!" He said happily. He flipped them over and then sobered immediately.

"How did you get hair pins with Guinevere's face on them?"

Lancelot looked quizzically at his friend. "That's not Guinevere on there man, it's Cerys, can't you see?" He sat beside his friend and took the pins, holding them up.

The two men sat and stared with frowns, tilting their heads back and forth as they regarded the cameo.

"What in bloody hells are you looking at?" A voice from the door startled both men. Galahad stood at the doorway, a drink in one hand and a bemused expression on the other. He stepped in, peering about.

"Don't have guests very often do you?"

"Shut it." Lancelot warned, growling. Galahad held up his hands.

"Come settle this for us. Lancelot has these pins, and there's a woman's face on them. I say its Guinevere, he says it's Cerys. What do you think?" Arthur offered.

Galahad peeked in sideways at the pins, which Lancelot held towards the light from the lantern. He frowned, his own brow furrowing. The staring and tilting of heads again commenced from all three men.

"It's Dory! I swear it!" Galahad suddenly exclaimed. He pulled the pins out of Lancelot's hands and held them up. "It's her likeness!"

Lancelot snatched them back, scowling. "Well whomever it is, don't breathe a word of it to anyone."

"Why not? Do you like wearing hairpins? Does your fancy dress need a new accessory?" Gala­had teased, pretending to curtsey, earning another growl from Lancelot.

"No, they are for Ce..." Lancelot halted, "A gift for someone."

Arthur nodded and gave Galahad a quick glance. Galahad got the point, a smile coming to his face.

"Well, I was coming to get you both for a game of knucklebone. What say you?"

Arthur stood. "We will join you in a moment; I need to get Lancelot's report first."

Galahad waved his arm as he exited Lancelot's rooms and strode off towards the common.

"They are for Cerys?" He asked once the young knight was out of earshot. "Did Rhia give you these? They look like Sabin's work."

Lancelot nodded, suddenly feeling tired again. He wanted to change the subject. But he had to speak with Arthur about something else. He rose and began to pace.

"Has Cerys spoken with you?" He looked up to Arthur, who had also stood. His jaw set itself.

If she hadn't spoken to him, he was going to tell the commander anyways. That could not hap­pen again. It should have been him "pretending" with her, not Perceval. He felt rotten enough that he couldn't protect her from these types of advances in general. It bothered him more this time, for some reason.

"No. Why?"

"Apparently Octus made advances, of a not so nice nature, when she was waiting for you in the hall with him. Perceval waded in and saved her by pretending to be her lover."

Arthur rubbed his forehead. "Ahh..." he groaned. "Now I understand why he asked after her this afternoon. Thank God for Perceval's tact or we would have a big bloody mess now."

"Asked after her?" Lancelot asked, his voice rising slightly. He did not like the sounds of this. Tact his arse. If Octus needed to be warned off of Cerys, he would show less and give him what for.

"Don't worry." Arthur admonished, gesturing with his hands to placate Lancelot, who looked ready to seethe. "I would not in a thousand years give her to him. I think we would all miss her too much, don't you?"

"If he touches her again..." Lancelot said between clenched teeth, going nose to nose with the taller knight. "I will kill him, that is a promise."

Arthur regarded his friend calmly, his hands still on the cuirass. Lancelot looked back defiantly, waiting for Arthur to tell him no.

Give me a reason! He screamed in his head. Give me one good reason why I should not! He silently ground his teeth and breathed, not backing down. Their eyes read each other for a mo­ment. One set steaming, the other looking quietly back.

"I know. It's alright. He won't."

Lancelot groaned and ran a hand through his hair yet again, turning away. "Sorry. Don't know what's gotten into me lately."

"I do." Arthur said as he walked towards the door, setting the cuirass down on the floor. "And you're an ass for not claiming her."

* * *

**Dear Reader:**

Have you ever come home from an exhausting day to strip off your clothes and just stand, feeling the weight lift from whatever it was you were doing? It is Heaven. Also like taking a pair of high heels off after a full day walking in them, as us girls can attest to. That is what I imagine Lancelot felt like when he finally stripped off his armour. Could you imagine sleeping in that metal and weight? Ugh...

I hope you enjoyed, and are wondering what Lancelot will do with Arthur's statement. Thank you, dear readers, for coming along with me today. Three chapters! I hope to have more ready soon.

Until then,

_Cardeia_


	33. Happiness

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the character names, save my own original creations. I do not wish to be compensated for this work, nor do I wish to infringe on any copyrights held by any stakeholders of the movie King Arthur. This work is an original creation, based on the legend of King Arthur and his knights.

* * *

**Scribe Notes:**

_LilChokLaTePig:_ Thank you for your review! I am glad you like my story. Cerys At Knight is a play on words, based on Lancelot falling in love with herwith the moonlight across her skin. Such as as many of the chapter titles are, if I can find meaning in them to do so. My name? I started out with Carolydd, but found I didn't mesh with it. I changed to Cardeia and I like it. Just a pen name, nothing more. It is perhaps a play on Celtic language phonetics, but it is loosly based.

_LilStrummrgrl527_: Hold on! A few more wonderful things must happen before that can come to pass. Believe me I have it written but not quite ready to post. Octus proved a point for Cerys and for Lancelot. Dirty old Roman man aside, he was able to make Lancelot get upset and have Arthur tell him it would be fine. There is another bit of confusion that has to come from that wee altercation in the hall and it is quite humorous.

_Sokorra Lewis:_ Kisses soon I promise. Gawain and Galahad teasing? Hmm, you gave me an idea! (grin) I am glad you liked the ending. I was writing along like a madwoman and got to that line and lifted my hands off the keyboard and went "AH! thats it for that chapter!" I love those epiphanies. I had chocolate to celebrate.

_Ailis-70:_ Hold onto yourself. I have another gift for you in these two chapters. The second one again, as was the last Tristan moment. I read your recent post and sent you a review, and I think you need this. So enjoy! I was going to post it seperate but decided to get it proofed and up tonight.

Hairpins... Uncanny but necessary for another scene I have coming up, which is still in my head. (big grin)

_Calliann:_ You are welcome! It is so much fun to get these spurts of creative juice and I just write and write and write. I am glad you enjoyed the hair pin scene. It's one of my favorite humorous scenes to date in this story. Enjoy the next two chapters!

_LovelyHeidi:_ You make me laugh with your review. Fell off? Oh my... Yes, Perceval would be a nice young tidbit. He's an interesting one that I am still developing. I hope to use him again in some way! Here is two more chapters for you! I hope you like them!

_History2:_ I got your reivew in and I cried. No! Happy tears! Really! You move my pen. You describe Cerys exactly as I picture her. The scene where Arthur knows about Tristan'salter-world meant a lot to his character development. He is an understanding man, but also he values his friends continued support so much that he is willing to accomodate. But such as Lancelot knows, I think Arthur understands why Tristan let him come with him. These men take care of each other, sometimes without even realizing it.

I am so glad you anticipate my story. This is the first body of work I have been excited about in a long. long time, and for other people to feel the same makes me feel validated in my efforts on it.

Thank you!

_Babaksmiles:_ Here is more! Yes, Cerys would wait, she is a stubbornly patient woman normally. However, I think she may be reaching her own breaking point, this is all new emotional territory to her, as well as Lancelot!

_Hessa_: my review to you today did not seem to post properly so I hope it made sense! Thank you for your kind words. I am enjoying the build-up too, kind of like experiencing falling in love all over again through my characters .I love falling in love, its so euphoric!

I'm also happy to see a fellow Canuck up here! Way to go, hoser! pass me a beer eh, lets go watch hockey in my igloo! (BIG grin)

_et cetera et cetera_: My favorite romances are the ones that slow-burn. So much more fun! The best ones are the ones where people work through amazing obstacles (personal or physical) to be together eventually. I am glad you are excited and here is two more for you!

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**Chapter 33: _Happiness_**

It was winter solstice and Cerys woke Brinn early.

"Brinn! Get up! Get up!" She said as she hopped across the cold floor from rug to rug in her bare feet. She carried a bundle in her arms, his new cloak. Her hair was undone and she was wearing her underdress, but she was too excited to put on a robe or start a fire from the coals.

Brinn looked out sleepily from behind his curtain. "Is it dawn?"

"Not quite. But I wanted to wake you early! It's winter solstice!" She laughed.

Cerys had never felt this happy before. She usually spent her day of celebration working hard to make sure everyone else had a good time, then partaking only when the majority of the days work was done. She had always loved this day of celebration, that was true, but this year, it was different.

Since her injuries, since Brinn had come into her life, since she had taken the time to see around her life at the fort, she had taken new joy in everything. This was a new Cerys, and she decided that she liked her very much.

Today would be a fun day, and she would enjoy it from a different perspective. Today she was going to just be Cerys, and be with her family. Her thoughts turned to Lancelot again and she smiled.

And her knight. She hoped she would get to spend time with him, perhaps a dance.

"I've brought you a gift!" She said, holding her arms out with the bundle in her hands.

Brinn blinked and stood from his bed. He scratched his head and yawned. "What is it?"

"It's a gift for you silly. Open it!" She said as she jumped onto his bed. She felt like a young girl again, she was so excited to have him wear this.

Brinn's face lit with a smile and he pulled the cord around the bundle. The cloak unfolded. It was dark blue dyed wool, with red trimmed wool threads, set in a cross-hatched pattern. She had put two pockets in it, on the inside, and a polished bronze cloak pin across the front. Brinn held it in his hands, staring.

"Well... try it on!" Cerys encouraged.

Brinn sat, his eyes big, the cloak clutched in his hands. Cerys could see his lower lip trembling. Had she upset him? She hoped not, or it would be a bad start to the day. She put a hand to his arm and before she could ask what was wrong he threw his arms about her, cloak and all, giving her the fiercest hug she had ever had. He squeezed, and Cerys realized that he was becoming quite strong.

"Alright, alright." She said as she patted his back. Brinn loosed her and stared at the cloak again.

"This is very beautiful." He said slowly. "I've never had a cloak like this before."

He got up and brought it around his shoulders, closing the pin. He looked down and tilted one side of the clasp to look at it. Round discs with horse's heads sculpted into them looked back.

"These are horse heads!" He exclaimed then, looking to the other one the same way.

Cerys nodded. "Those were made by an old armourer who used to live here. He made those for my first cloak when I was very young. It is too short for me now. Considering you are a squire, horses are quite suitable!"

Brinn looked at Cerys with round eyes and a happy smile. He smoothed the panels of the cloak out and stuffed his hands back in through the arm holes. He seemed so happy and it made Cerys' heart burst.

"Do you like it?" She asked, standing again and coming over to tug at the hems, adjusting it across his young frame. She put a hand on either side of his shoulders and smiled at him. "I thought you could use a warm cloak."

"It is warm, and so new." He said solemnly. "I am afraid to wear it to get dirty in the stables!"

"Then you shall have to become a strong knight and buy yourself a cloak for every day of the week!" She exclaimed, then burst into giggles. Brinn joined her as he walked a few steps, testing it out.

He smiled and hugged her once more. "Thank you, it's the best gift."

With that, they began their day. Cerys dressed and pulled out the myriad of tokens she had stashed away, and began to wrap them in bundles of brightly dyed cloth. Brinn set to starting the fire up again and then trotted out towards the stable, once it was burning brightly.

Cerys hummed as she watched him stride out, his new cloak billowing out around him, a smile across his face that made her very, very happy.

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

. Cerys' plan was to spend the day visiting and delivering gifts. Her mood was so light that she felt as if she was floating.

Dafydd had loved the small jars she had found for him. She had hugged him, telling his she was thankful for his help with her hands, showing him how they had completely healed. At a loss for words he had sat, misty-eyed, rolling them in his fingers. She had left then, promising to come by soon and discuss a new assistant for him.

Her next stop delivered gourd rattles to Bors and Lorina, who immediately gave one to their tiny son.

He had immediately put it into his mouth, sucking on the stem. Cerys had picked him up, much to the surprise of Lorina, and twirled him about, the both of them laughing. They had never seen Cerys so happy before. She stayed for a cup of hot cider, and then went on her way.

"Cerys looks like she's in love." Bors had grunted when she left. Lorina swatted him.

"Of course she is, you ox!" And they had both laughed.

Cerys had next visited Gawain and Galahad, who were still sleeping off the night before's drinking. She woke them by pounding on their door. Galahad had come to the door, his eyes foggy, his hair tousled.

"What?" He mumbled, one eye open, his tunic half on.

"Happy Solstice!" She cried, launching herself at him, hugging him. He grunted and then wrapped his arms about her as he backed into the room, unsteady from her attack.

"Not so loud!" Gawain had muttered from his place in his own bed, throwing a fur over his head and groaning.

Cerys left them each with new wineskins to replace the ones in their packs for travelling, and a kiss to each of them. She also replaced Galahad's supply of valerian while Gawain was turned the other way. He gave her hand a squeeze as she deposited it.

"Thank you, my sister." He said quietly. She had smiled so widely at that point that Galahad thought she was going to burst. He had never called her sister before, but at that moment, it seemed to fit.

Gawain turned his wineskin in his hands after she had left, running fingers over the lettering on its side. She had told him that it was his name in Latin. He couldn't read, so he assumed it was. he thought it looked noble.

"I've never seen her like that before." He murmured, looking up to his brother, who was pulling on a set of trews.

"It's good." Galahad agreed, his toothy grin wide.

Perceval loved his new flint rock, and promptly flung her over his shoulder and paraded out of the stables where she had found him, attempting to carry her away, spinning her about like a sack. She beat on his back and kicked in jest, both of them laughing. When he finally put her down, she gave him a kiss and darted back inside to find Jols.

Jols blushed beet red and put on a sheepish smile as he unwrapped a new set of woolen socks. He had immediately hugged them to his chest and given her a shy kiss on her cheek, which made her laugh and throw her arms about him.

"Oh Jols, what shall I do with you?" She exclaimed. Jols had just sighed and put his own arms about her, enjoying her closeness for a moment.

Once free of his embrace, she told them she must be going and left. She felt like she was going to burst with this happiness, and she was not quite sure where it was coming from. Her thoughts went to Lancelot. She couldn't wait to give him what she had decided would be a wonderful gift for him. She skipped a few steps.

As she strode out of the stables, Perceval stood with Jols and they watched her leave.

"Lancelot is a lucky sod." Jols said, shaking his head. "Think he's figured it out yet?"

Perceval nodded. "I do believe so. I just hope he makes the right decision."

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Cerys was now knocking at Arthur and Guinevere's rooms. She made her five long hard knocks, and Arthur ripped open the door.

"Happy solstice!" he bellowed and picked her up, swinging her in through the entryway and kicking it closed. His eyes too held such a liveliness that Cerys hugged him a moment and drank it in. She didn't get to see him so happy that often. It was wonderful. He was always so serious with his duties. His softer side she loved so much.

He set her down as Guinevere looked up from her seat next the hearth.

"Happy Solstice Guinevere!" She exclaimed and rushed the woman. They embraced and Guin­evere laughed.

"You are in wonderful humour this day!"

"That I am." She said, grinning as she pulled packages out of the basket looped on her arm.

"What's this?" Arthur asked as she thrust a small bundle into his hands.

Cerys sat on a cushion opposite Guinevere and handed her another small bundle. She looked expectantly to both of them.

"Well... open them!" she burst out, her hands flying.

"You do this every year, making sure that we all have something to celebrate with." Arthur said, coming to sit beside her on the floor, crossing his legs. "My mother used to do this."

Cerys put a hand to his cheek. "It is because of that I do." He nodded and they shared a quiet moment, each remembering.

Guinevere let out a peal of happy laughter as she lifted out a small folded flap of bright blue leather. She flipped back the top, and inside were bone needles of different sizes. There was a Latin numeral above each, etched into the leather.

"It's a proper sewing kit so you can get better at fixing your husband's tunics." Cerys teased.

Arthur laughed and winked to his wife as he unfolded the cloth across his own package. He looked sideways at it, and held it up.

"What is it?" He asked, looking to her.

She grasped it from his hands and held it up, to form an L-shape. She pointed to the uniform marks on one side, then flipped it over and pointed again.

"It's for drawing. You can make diagrams with it. I got it from a passing merchant this summer. It may help you with your aqueduct."

He sobered and held it in his hand. "Very thoughtful gift my cousin. Truly you spoil us, with everything that you do."

She waved a hand at him. He rubbed a finger across the metal square, resting it in his lap, then tousled her hair, his large hand covering the top of her head. She giggled and ducked away from him, smoothing it out again.

Guinevere handed her a cup of mulled cider and she sipped while they chatted. The fire was warm, and she relaxed. Arthur had shifted so that he was close to Guinevere and was running his fingers through her hair slowly. Cerys watched them. He was being more affectionate than normal. Guinevere was beaming as she pulled each needle out of the casing and looked at it. One hand was absently rubbing her stomach.

"You two look very happy." Cerys said, between sips. She wondered if finally her friend and cousin were going to have a baby. It was time, and they had been together some years without one. It seemed to be a likely answer, and she had noticed Guinevere eating less, only nibbling her food in the mornings, and running to the loos more often.

"Ahh... well..." Arthur started, scratching at his stubbled face and looking sheepish.

"You're going to have a baby." Cerys said quietly, winking to Guinevere. Guinevere nodded. .

"How did you know?" Arthur asked, a questioning look to his face.

"Women knew these things." Cerys and Guinevere chimed together, then giggled.

"No one knows yet." Arthur said, shaking his head at the two of them. Cerys put a finger to her lips, signalling she would not tell a soul.

"I am happy for you both."

They sat for a while longer and chatted, and Cerys eventually got around to telling Arthur about Octus.

Arthur nodded, flipping the square in his hand and looking at the markings. He set it to his lap again and sighed.

"I have seen to that. He believes you are spoken for, as he asked after you yesterday."

Cerys raised an eyebrow. "And who did you tell him had spoken for me? He believes me in­volved with Perceval."

Arthur cleared his throat and looked to his wife. "Well, your jest may have been in vain. I told him you were claimed by Lancelot."

She sobered and looked at him, then to Guinevere, then back to her cousin.

"You... You what?" She stammered. "Lancelot?" She set her cup down. "Does he know of this?"

"No."

Cerys blinked. She was trying to be mad, she was trying to be upset at being "given" to the very man she loved, even in a ruse. But, she wasn't. She realized that she was perhaps a bit sad that it was not truth that Arthur spoke.

"Oh." Was all she said.

Guinevere and Arthur looked to each other, mischief in their eyes.

Lancelot filled me in on your fiction last night after I spoke with Octus. I understood after that why Octus seemed a tad confused, but it has been smoothed out."

"I would hate for any problems to arise out of that. He shows no grief for his dead family. He was quite forward in his interests towards me..." She shuddered as she spoke it. Hor­rible man, she thought to herself.

"He is quite Roman." Guinevere added.

All three nodded in unison, understanding what Guinevere meant perfectly.

Cerys smiled and slapped her thighs. "I must keep moving, I have a few more stops to make before I begin to help with dinner." She rose, Arthur standing as well to help her.

"Truly this is wonderful news about your baby. It is the best Winter Solstice gift."

Arthur laced his fingers on top of his head and stretched, standing as well. "As is your happi­ness, cousin."

Cerys nodded, smiled and reached up to kiss her cousins cheek. She grasped Guinevere's hand and then turned to leave, her step again bouncing.

After Cerys had departed, Arthur took his wife in his arms and kissed her. Guinevere pulled back a moment and looked to him.

"She didn't seem too upset by being promised to Lancelot."

"That's because she loves him, and I fully intend to give her away to him when he figures it out. Have I told you about their kiss in the baths?"

Guinevere smiled and shook her head. "Perhaps some time you will?"

Arthur nodded and kissed his wife again. "Yes, but not right now." He murmured as he picked her up and carried her to their bed.

* * *

**Dear Reader:**

Babies are wonderful and I really wanted Guinevere and Arthur to be happy. Also, now is a great time, since Cerys will be able to open up and feel the joy they share with each other. Before she may have seen it as "more work", and happy for the task. Now she sees it as a joyful gift!

Her mothering of Brinn is making her a happy woman, I think she repressed her biological clock, and now it shall start ticking, with everything in her life falling into place (Well, almost everything).

Cerys loves Solstice and has gifts for all. I have to admit that this chapter for me was (ok here goes) a big ole Mary Sue (whatever that really means). I LOVE Christmas and my list grows exponentially throughout the year as I gather gifts for all my loved ones. I spend most of December wrapping and baking. It is such a happy time of year for me. I wanted to give Cerys this gift of experiencing it in a new light, with her newfound energy and happiness in her station, being able to come to terms with her feelings instead of burying them. I did that too.

So now you know. Onwards towards the next chapter! Tristan fans, grab your mouse...

_Cardeia_


	34. Unexpected Dance

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the character names, save my own original creations. I do not wish to be compensated for this work, nor do I wish to infringe on any copyrights held by any stakeholders of the movie King Arthur. This work is an original creation, based on the legend of King Arthur and his knights.

* * *

**Scribe Notes:**

Ailis-70, this one is for you!

* * *

**Chapter 34: _Unexpected Dance_**

Music filled the hall. People were up dancing, clapping and stepping. Cheers and laughter all around.

Cerys was in the middle of it, Gawain's hand outstretched to her as they stepped a fancy pattern to a lively beat from some men close by. His long blonde hair bounced as he stepped back from her, his eyes flashing happiness. She laughed and picked up her skirts, following him. They hopped and skipped around the small open area, hoots coming from some of the men. Cerys looked over at Hywel who had been one of the instigators and stuck her tongue out at him. He laughed and pretending to grab it. She spun away from him as Gawain's hand pulled her for­ward.

The braziers in the corners roared with heat and everywhere one looked there was food and drink. Arthur was feeding Guinevere dates, their eyes never leaving one another, oblivious to the throng around them. Galahad was nuzzling Dory's neck from another cushion nearby, her giggling making him smile into her neck, their fingers entwined.

Bors sat quietly by Lorina, their children running between legs and people, screaming and laughing the way only children could. Their baby was happily burbling from Nimli's arms, Ganis' arm around her shoulder, cooing down to the baby and making faces.

It was a family affair, this crowd.

Lancelot watched all of this on a cushion near Perceval. He watched her spinning, bouncing, her normally pinned hair down and flying about. His eyes never left her. She was so beautiful, he thought, and he felt himself wanting to just grab her up and run. Run where? He asked himself and he felt completely helpless.

"You could just go cut in, you know." Perceval leaned over and muttered into Lancelot's ear.

Lancelot grimaced, scoffed and looked away then, down to his almost empty cup. He had no appetite for drink this night, and he found himself hard pressed to keep up with Perceval, who had challenged him.

"Let her have fun." He said, sulking.

Perceval gave him an exasperated look and grabbed at a passing girl, his attention to his friend distracted. She shrieked as he pulled her down into his lap, and then tickled his beard with her fingers before he gave her a kiss. She smacked his cheek lightly, then relaxed into his grasp, giggling. He pretended to roar like a lion and put her flat back on the cushions, bending over her to nuzzle at her neck, making more growling noises.

Lancelot rolled his eyes and got up, carrying his cup with him. That was all he needed on this night. He made his way towards a table and found a jug of wine. He filled his cup and turned to look over the celebration, sipping and watching over the rim.

Today he had spent the majority of his time in the armoury, cutting a straw dummy to pieces, practicing until his shoulders hurt and his mind blanked. He had stood, chest heaving, in the cen­tre of the practice ring and hurled his swords at the now destroyed straw man and screamed at nothing in particular. He felt much better afterwards, despite missing it completely with both swords.

He was an ass... HE was an ass? Bloody hells...

He was stewing on Arthur's words the night before that had sent him to the wall and by himself for the evening. He was upset at Cerys not being his, and upset with himself for not having the courage to just tell her how he felt, to make her his. Upset with Arthur for pointing out the ob­vious and telling him so.

But telling her how he felt would ruin their friendship, something he had almost done a few times now. He had almost convinced himself that her kiss up on the wall had meant something, but since, they had not visited their feelings, except for when he had been a complete fool and told her that he had missed her.

He loved her so much, and simple words such as that were breaking his heart in two. "As did I." she had said. He wanted to believe her, and part of him did, remembering their kiss and what it had done to both of them.

After spending more time by himself soaking in the baths, he had given in to the idea of a mas­sage, got his hair trimmed and then joined the celebration. It was already in full swing, and he hadn't gotten to talk to Cerys yet. The hair pins were safely tucked inside his leather overtunic, and he felt them there, touching his skin.

"You going to drink that?" a voice pulled him out of his stewing thoughts.

Tristan was looking into his cup.

"No. Here." He handed it off to the man, who downed it in a single gulp. He smacked his lips and refilled it, handing it back to Lancelot.

"Cerys gave me a book." Tristan said proudly, turning to stand with Lancelot, looking to where Lancelot was watching Cerys dancing.

Lancelot looked to his friend. He was talkative this evening and even seemed... lively. His eyes were happy and he was, for once, not dressed in riding-out clothes. He was wearing a plain tunic and soft leather trews, with regular soft boots. A dirk did still protrude from the top of one, but it was hidden well. Even his braids had been re-done. Had he visited the baths?

Lancelot wondered if he had anything else hidden within his relaxed outfit. Most likely a throw­ing knife under his waistband. Tristan was never unprepared.

Unthinkable from this quiet man, always on alert, always ready for action. Lancelot was curious at the change, but kept his thoughts to himself. He thought to Wynn, and if Tristan would want her here this night.

Tristan and he were both asses, he concluded.

A young girl looked at the pair as she passed, and straightened her shoulders, giving them both a look under her eyelashes. Lancelot smiled wanly, Tristan winked, shifting his lanky frame, eyes scanning the crowd slowly, following the girl around the corner of the room. Lancelot thought briefly that they must look the pair of bachelors on the prowl. He sighed and took a sip from his refilled cup.

"A book?" He asked, an amused smile coming to his face, turning his attention back to Tristan. Everyone knew that Tristan could not read, hence his complete disdain of maps.

"She says she's going to teach me how to read." He said as he looked behind him, grabbed the entire jug of wine and began drinking from it. Lancelot raised an eyebrow to him but Tristan merely shrugged and took another swallow.

"I suppose I could learn, it doesn't look hard." He said, a small smile coming to his lips.

"What is the book on?"

"Hells if I know. Something about trees."

Tristan downed the rest of the jug of wine and plunked it back to the table, wiping his mouth on his tunic sleeve. Lancelot noted that Tristan was a tad drunk, and he chuckled.

Tristan straightened himself, and seemed to gather his courage about him, puffing his chest a bit. He raised his eyebrows to Lancelot, and then, without any warning, waded into the circle of people and tapped Gawain on the shoulder.

Lancelot held his breath. He wasn't...

He was.

He was going to dance with Cerys.

Lancelot looked stunned and the crowd went silent as he bowed very gracefully to her, Gawain stepping out of the way, a confused look to his face. Arthur smiled and caught Lancelot's eyes across the room and they shared a knowing look. The rest were gape mouthed, and Cerys, her eyes wide, had a hand to hers.

For a short while after Tristan had killed that girl in Elmet, he had been more withdrawn, and some of the knights were worried it had really put him over the edge. Lancelot, feeling that he knew Tristan better now for their time out at the coast together, was not so sure anymore. He assumed the man had just worked it out for himself.

Lancelot had asked him about it on their way home from their coast run, and he had not respond­ed, just looked away and swallowed. A few hours later he finally did, as they were resting the horses near a stream.

"It felt wrong, and I could only see Wynn's face as I..." He stopped, then looked to Lancelot, who had simply nodded and patted the scout on the shoulder. No more was needed. Since then, Tristan had relaxed into his calm and quiet demeanour again, slipping back into what the men were familiar with. Except, he seemed more open. Lancelot, again, was not sure what to make of it. Especially now, with this evenings uncharacteristic actions.

Lancelot snapped from his thoughts to watch her reaction to Tristan's offer. He could only think that Tristan was touched by her gift in some way, to give her something so big as to reveal this secret about him. Either that or he was tired of holding that side of him in.

She reached out a hand and he grasped it. A few of the men began drumming, and he stepped forward to her. Someone began a tune on a pipe; others made noises to accompany the beat.

It was then that her face burst into a smile and she bowed back.

Everyone had stopped to watch them, and Tristan led her to the table and up onto it, stepping lightly up, his arm to her waist, hoisting her without effort.

It was Tristan that began to clap, and the beat picked up again, faster this time. Lancelot fol­lowed her, watching her twirl, watching him chase her, then her chase him. Their eyes never left each other, and once, Lancelot even saw Tristan wink at her. He felt a thread of jealousy run through him. That should be him up there.

Still, he couldn't turn his head from the pair, who were floating around one another. Was that what it looked like when he danced with her?

Tristan's steps could not be heard on the table, and he glided from one to the next. They circled the table, each stepping with shoulders back and fluid arms. They flowed together.

Lancelot wondered if the years of her childhood spent sitting with him and listening was what made them read each other so well. Certainly it would explain her automatic rhythm with this new partner. Certainly it was his years of observation that made him so keen a reader of body movement. Lancelot caught reactions from the other knights, who were all watching with a mix­ture of shock and what looked to be happiness.

It was not everyday that someone just up and turned his friends on their ear like this.

Many people stood just watching, the shock of seeing Tristan up on the table rendering them motionless. The beat got louder and stronger, making the pair step in circles around each other, graceful and quiet despite the harsh beat from the crowd. Their movements sped, reactions quicker. Cerys' face flushed and she was laughing. Tristan was actually smiling.

Lancelot watched her, entranced.

Tristan stepped foot over foot, his hand out to Cerys. She shook her hair and laughed, twirling once and throwing a hip, her skirts swinging around her legs. He stepped towards her and she stepped towards him.

This would get tongues wagging, Lancelot mused.

Tristan reached Cerys and turned her into his grasp. Lancelot's heart lurched. She was locked in Tristan's ice blue eyes, their chest heaving, his arms holding her fast.

The thought came from nowhere to Lancelot's head. Please Gods don't fall in love with him! He folded his arms to keep his hands from shaking and dropping his cup, and leaned against the wall.

Tristan flipped a short strand of hair out of his face and kissed her lightly on the cheek, setting her back down. The beat stopped and the thunderous cheering began. Thumping on the table and hoots echoed as Tristan hopped off and reached a hand up to Cerys. She smiled and he helped her down.

Tristan bowed once more to her. She leapt into his arms, holding him tightly. He closed his eyes as she did. She was telling him something, and it made him chuckle. He rocked her back and forth, and they parted to hurrahs and pats on the back. Tristan slipped back into calm scout then, and simply nodded to each person who talked to him.

They made their way through the crowd of people to where Lancelot was still standing against the wall.

"That was unexpected." Lancelot said dryly.

Tristan grinned and looked for a cup on the crowded table. Lancelot again handed his to the knight. "Here."

Tristan handed it to Cerys and then went back to looking. Cerys' eyes were happy, her cheeks flushed. She gulped at the wine.

"It was." She agreed. "You never told me you could dance."

"You never asked." He quipped, his lips twisted in mirth.

She giggled again at that and touched his arm, offering her half-full cup to Tristan, who drained it. He looked to her, then to Lancelot. He put a hand out to Cerys' arm and winked.

"Happy Solstice, sister." He whispered as he leaned in and gave her another quick kiss on her cheek. "You dance like a gazelle."

With that, he turned on his heel out of the hall into the night air, his step bouncing and light, the empty cup in his hand thrust to the air, saluting them as he walked away.

* * *

**Dear Reader**:

And such, our Tristan is changing. His gift to Cerys is beyond measure. It is special for her, but also special for him. He wants to change. Perhaps he is now feeling as are our two lovebirds?

I wanted to write this as I stared at a picture of Mads from the movie. In it he is holding out his goblet as they salute to their fallen comrades in the hall. It made me think he was so regal, yet to contained and I wanted to let him loose. So I started to think of a way to get him to finally break out of his shell a bit. The girl in Elmet and a secret love came to my head. Then I thought of how Cerys loves to dance with those she cares about, and how they would read each other so well if they did dance together. So, I plunged in.

I really hope everyone likes it, and it is not too much of a deviation from Tristan as we know and admire him. He is still a calm and quiet knight, but he is a man, and all men have a playful side. It is the events that bring it out that makes it unique among each of them.

Here is to you finding your playful sides, and learning something new about someone in your life! As Tristan said with his body as he walked out of the hall,

Cheers!

_Cardeia_


	35. Good Knight

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the character names, save my own original creations. I do not wish to be compensated for this work, nor do I wish to infringe on any copyrights held by any stakeholders of the movie King Arthur. This work is an original creation, based on the legend of King Arthur and his knights.

* * *

**Scribe Notes:**

_Sokorra Lewis_: They did! Not sure if I like it, lots of extra clicks, and I am on dial-up here. Ahh well... Yes, Tristan is changing. I hope to surprise you more soon, so here is the next chapter!

_Calliann:_ Me too. It was a late addition to have them expecting, but it seemed to fit. Happiness can be infectious. I am glad you liked the dance scene. I bet your Tristan and Ana would dance well together as well. But I could see their dance being so much more intense, so much more primal. The way their souls are intertwined, they would become one as they danced.

_Bloodredcherry_: It is set after the movie by a bit. I made reference to Lancelot getting hurt badly by a crossbow bolt to the chest in the chapter No Control, to bring in the element of that battle. You bet! Fiction of any kind allows us to take our imaginations, desires, hopes and dreams and put them into words, characters, situations and stories. It is our ability to tell these stories to fulfill our own souls that allows us to fulfill others too! Thank you for your encouragement in my quest to bring fulfillment to myself, and thus, to you.

_et ceterea et cetera:_ Thank you! Yes I agree I was getting impatient with them as I wrote too, but I have to remember to breathe and let them figure it out on their own through my fingers. Here you go, the next chapter, with our happier Cerys.

_lilstrummrgrl527:_ I am glad I can surprise you!I am glad you enjoyed, and I hope you continue to be so with this chapter.

_Ailis-70:_ Lancelot is a dolt. Believe me, I see so many different men I know in him right now.

Tristan is changing, and I think, after her gift to him, he may have realized that he should begin enjoying his life on the days he is not in his fishing village with his Wynn. Perhaps this was the final moment for him. I have yet to figure that one out but I have an idea. My favorite part was when he left, his swaggering salute as he strode away. That made him sexy to me.

Perhaps its a sign that I need a man with attitude to be attracted... Hence my interest in the personalities of these knights in this movie.

_Babaksmiles_: Thank you! It was fun to write his new freedom, and his cocky swaggering. I could see this humour and attitude in him in the movie, where he leans over and says "Try it sometime, you just might get a liking for it." He sounded so much like an Irish pub fighter to me right then and that has stuck with me. He has cockiness and attitude in spades, he just hides it. I wanted to bring it out.

_LovelyHeidi:_ A flint rock is a small piece of what would have been sandstone and perhaps a bit of coal, smoothed out in a river and used to sharpen the edges of swords and axes. It would have been used wet, and run in either a quick long sweeping motion down the edge of the blade, or rubbed in circular motions along the edge to give a more thorough job. Also called a flint stone or a whet stone.

I am glad you like Perceval. He is a brat eh? I am happy that you found the chapters light and fun, that was the intention. Here is another!

_History2:_ Cerys is at peace. So much more so. Her life is coming together and I tried to show that in her new freedom to enjoy and not throw herself to making others enjoy. She is taking care of herself now, and able to focus on taking care of Brinn. it's kind of like she is falling in love with both Lancelot and Brinn, in different ways. Yet, each are precious to her in the same way, that she has them in her life to help her feel and be happy.

I am glad that you liked the way Tristan told Cerys about his other side. I decided that since he really isn't a talker, he would be better off showing her something, and giving her something he knew she would appreciate. He is an observer, this we established, and he knows his gazelle would appreciate his big step.

_Burnt Alice:_ I am so glad you are inspired! Write! Write! I look forward to seeing it! Thank you for your praise and you excitement. It helps me to write too!

* * *

**Chapter 35: _Good Knight_**

Lancelot swallowed. Here she finally was and he didn't know what to say. All evening he had been waiting to spend time with her and now... Instead of trusting himself to say something proper, he put an arm about her shoulders and pulled her into him.

"Tristan will never cease to amaze me." She said, sighing, leaning into him, her eyes closing for a moment. She put an arm about his waist and looked up to him. "Did you know he could dance like that?"

Lancelot shook his head, lieing. He wanted to be anywhere but here right now, and preferably with her, alone. He swallowed. Her warmth was making his heart lurch.

He couldn't stand it. He had to tell her. He was going to tell her tonight.

She was looking at him, a soft happy look to her face, her hand on his chest. He smiled down and they walked around the edge of the crowd for a few moments. He felt relieved a bit, having made a decision to finally deal with this pain and get it over with.

Tomorrow he could go for a long gallop to forget, once she had said no and he had thrown eve­rything away. Tomorrow he could deal with in its own time. Tonight was all he had to get this out of his system.

Octus leered up at them from a space on a cushion as they passed. Cerys averted her eyes and he could feel her stiffen. He tightened his grasp on her shoulders.

"Awful man." she whispered.

As they passed, he sought out Octuses eyes and gave him as hard a glare as he could. Octus blinked and scowled.

"You can have th'whore." He muttered and spat towards a smaller brazier near his position. Lancelot stopped and his jaw immediately started to flex. He turned.

"Give me another reason, Roman." Lancelot seethed, his hand curled into a fist. Octus grunted and turned to get up, stumbling twice before he got a hand out to lever himself out of the cush­ions. The younger man beside him put a hand out to Octus and muttered something under his breath. Octus shook him off.

"Begone with you Hector." the older man shouted. Some heads turned to see what was happen­ing. Hector rolled his eyes and stood with his father.

Lancelot waited. To give this man a good belt, the way he was feeling, would be very good. But not until he could look him in the eye again. He wanted the satisfaction of watching him crumple.

The man was taking forever to get up, and it was obvious he was well into his drink. Whore? How dare he say that about her! Filthy pig.

"Get up, pig, or I'll rip you up by your sorry hide." He gritted again, his eyes now glittering with anger, his hands clenching and unclenching.

Octus stood and swayed as he regarded the knight. "What makess you s'high n'mighty? This... This wom'n wass cavorting with...with your friend jes lass night." He slurred, hiccuping, point­ing in the general direction of Perceval. "She wass will'ng t'go to his bed, I would've show'd 'er. You can have 'er."

Lancelot made a growling noise in his throat and stepped forward, his fingers reaching out to grasp the man's neck, going nose to nose with him, his nostrils flaring.

A hand gripped to his other arm stilled him and he turned to tell whomever it was to take their hand away or he would belt them as well. He was so angry, frustrated and confused, and he was determined to let it out on… this.

Cerys blinked at him as he turned and snarled. She pinched her lips together and he immediately felt sorry for it.

."It's not worth it. Don't. He's drunk and thinks I am promised to you anyways."

That made Lancelot blink. Promised to him? By whom? It made him forget about ramming his fist to the Roman's face. Lancelot turned back to the man, and then caught the eye of his son Hector, whose own eyes were pleading with Lancelot. He sighed and straightened his fingers on his other hand.

"You're not worth it." He spat as pushed the old man away, releasing his throat. Octus fell back to the cushions, spilling drink everywhere, Hector trying to catch him. The crowd silently watched. Octus mumbled incoherently as he pawed at his son's hands.

"Promised?" He turned and asked Cerys, as calmly as he could.

"It's a long story, please, let's just keep walking shall we?" She said, a pleading look also on her face. He stood a moment more, forced his anger down and obliged. They continued to walk, her hand slipping into his and squeezing. The room regained its buzz of conversation as they continued on their path.

He would have to speak with Arthur about that. It would be him that would be able to give her away. Had he meant something more by his comments the night before? He shook his head and grimaced. This night was making him think too much, the lack of wine making it torture.

Cerys yawned. It was getting later in the evening and she had been up and dancing for most of it. He wanted to pick her up and carry her away. She looked wonderful as she yawned and he loved the lines around her mouth. Her eyes crinkled too. Why had he never noticed that about her before?

His head was a mess. He needed to get out of here.

They waved together as Bors and Lorina said goodnight to everyone and strode off arm in arm. They always retired early, with the gaggle of children towed behind them. Galahad straggled up, and with Dory under his arm, he too nodded his goodnights.

They stood a moment more near a brazier, talking to various people, chatting, laughing, jesting. He felt her squeeze his hand, and she was absently rubbing her thumb across it while they spoke.

It felt so good. It was making his head spin. He amended his previous thought. He needed to leave with her. Now.

"Come on now, where are your thoughts this evening?" She asked, punching him in the arm. He made a face and held his arm, then laughed. She could read him so well sometimes, and he re­laxed just slightly. She smiled; satisfied that he was not upset, and turned back to more good­byes.

"I should think it is time for my own bed." She said rather reluctantly as she watched the crowd thinning.

It was now or never, he thought.

"Walk with me outside for a moment?" He asked, holding his voice as steady as he could.

She nodded and released his grasp, to hug Arthur, say her goodnights. Lancelot followed her to where the rest of the men were standing, catching raised eyebrows and amused looks as he joined them.

"Lancelot." Gawain said as he stumbled up, "May I borrow your rooms again this night? My brother has kicked me out again."

Lancelot looked at the man. "And where do you suppose I will sleep?"

Gawain muffled a snort and flicked a glance to Cerys.

"Don't be daft."

Lancelot gave him a resigned look and Gawain clapped his back. Damn... First Tristan, then Perceval, Arthur, now Gawain? Did all his companions think him a fool? He rubbed his fore­head and remembered the hair pins under his tunic, and what he was about to do.

Perhaps he was.

A hand slipping into his again brought him back from his thoughts.

"Ready?" She asked, her face showing amusement. "It seems, my knight, that you are the one whittling in your head this evening."

He put on a smile for her. They waved their goodbyes and stepped out into the common, Cerys towing him by the hand towards her rooms. He heard a few echoes of "Have fun!" and "Don't hurt him!" from Gawain and Perceval. He shook his head. Cerys seemed not to hear them and he was glad for it at that moment.

The night was clear and cold, and he watched the moonlight bathe her skin as she slowed to let him catch up to her side, her breath pluming above her head. She was as beautiful now as she was that moment in his rooms when he first realized his feelings and he wanted to brush the hair from her face and kiss her, the urge almost too much to stop.

He hesitated his hand as she turned towards him. She stopped at her door.

"Wait here, I have something for you." She opened the door and stepped inside.

He didn't wait. He followed her in, closing the door behind him.

* * *

**Dear Reader:**

And thus we have his decision. How easily an evening can turn a mind to something. He has gone from being forlorn, to confused, to jealous to angry in the space of a few hours! It is a lot for one man. His head is spinning. Despite that, he is determined, as his actions are showing.

I leave you with this chapter, and I look forward to your guesses on the next!

_Cardeia_


	36. Love: Admit One

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the character names, save my own original creations. I do not wish to be compensated for this work, nor do I wish to infringe on any copyrights held by any stakeholders of the movie King Arthur. This work is an original creation, based on the legend of King Arthur and his knights.

* * *

**Scribe Notes:**

_All:_ OK OK OK! AH! Cliff-hangers are fun, but wow, the responses I got to post the next one quick were quite adament. So, here it is. I think the title of the chapter kind of gives it away again but I think everyone will be pleased. On to comments:

_Burnt Alice:_ Yes, steamy, hot. I will not disappoint, and may even post a warning. I did give this an M rating, but...

Calliann: You have my response to your dance chapter. Way to go! Yes, Lancelot seething is fun, but I wanted to make him a bit shocked with Cerys' statement, and make him think twice about pounding the Roman.

_Sokorra Lewis:_ Hector is nice, and probably knows exactly what his father does with women. Wait no more, here it is!

_Ailis-70:_ I read Prayer. that writer is something else. I told them so too.

Lancelot is quite comical this way. Men can be comical in their own emotional responses and I really enjoy giving him humbling thoughts. I think I see his eyes the most when writing his inner thoughts and turmoil. His eyes were such large windows into his soul for us.

But, I see softness in all of Ioan's characters, no matter how brutal they are. His innocence in Solomon, his duty-bound morale in Horatio... Just look at his cameo in Shooters as Freddy Guns! He has this softer, happy look as he is explaining the merits of the Glock that J buys off of him. He gestures with his fingers when he says "This little black number" and its precious! He plays a freak in the cameo role, but you see how passionate about guns his character is with that one movement. He captured that in a different way in King Arthur. I love giving him movements, facial expressions. Ioan in the movie plays Lancelot's emotions on his face on purpose, and that fueled me with him in a large way.

I am trying to find his BBC movie called Warriors (also called Peace Keepers) where he plays a British peacekeeper in Bosnia. He's apparently fab-u-lous in it.

Yes, I am aware I have become hopeless... (grin)

Here is the long-awaited chapter. I hope I captured the emotions well here for you!

_bloodredcherry:_ Oh yes, surprised, but with the two of them together, what starts as one sided...

_et cetera et cetera:_ AH! OK! You got my attention. Here you go! thank you for your enthusiasm in my story, despite your shouting, it made me quite happy (grin).

_LovelyHeidi_: I think you got it figured out. Thanks for your excitement! They both will go off the edge, its time. Here you go!

* * *

**Chapter 36: _Love: Admit One_**

Cerys turned as she heard him close the door. Suddenly she felt nervous. All evening he had watched her. All evening she had wanted to run to him, hold him. All evening she had debated with herself.

She had to tell him how she felt. She decided that she would tell him tonight. Tomorrow she could go for a gallop with her hawk and forget about all of this when he said no, and she had thrown everything away.

She completely forgot about his solstice gift.

Such decisions she was making! She wasn't quite sure where this confidence was coming from, but she liked it. She was tuned to Lancelot, standing just inside the door. She lit her table lantern and moved to stir up the fire. She fumbled with the iron poker before setting it back against the wall. She felt his eyes on her, stabbing.

"I suppose it is warmer in here." She mumbled, trying to fill the silence with something.

She felt a hand on her shoulder and turned. His eyes were soft, pleading. She felt the nerv­ousness around him. Oh Gods, she thought. She was going to come undone.

"Cerys..." He said, then stopped. He pressed his lips together. He was willing courage, she re­alized.

He brushed the hair back from her face. Her hand went to his wrist. He blinked, and she moved the palm to her lips and kissed it slowly.

It was now or never, she thought.

In the next instant, he had brought his other hand up behind her head and was kissing her, his hand locking into the back of her hair. Her eyes flew open, then closed as she gave into the de­sire.

She opened her lips and they moved closer to one another, melting, arms now reaching around. They held each other for what seemed like a long time, exploring each others mouths, his head down to her, her reaching up. He moaned softly, breaking to kiss her neck, catching his breath. She kinked her neck and caught his lips again. She could feel her insides heating, her abdomen tightening. Her heart was racing.

She thought that if he let go, she would fall to the floor. She had no strength in her legs anymore. She had to stop or she would collapse.

She broke the kiss and buried her head in his chest, her hands coming out to grasp at the leather tunic on his chest. She sighed raggedly.

"Lancelot, what does this mean?"

He made a sound from deep in his chest and tightened his grip around her.

"I... all I know is that I feel a need to be with you." He stammered, his hands coming to her arms and holding her away to look at her.

Cerys felt tears coming to her eyes. She looked up to him. "As do I. Lancelot, I..."

He shook his head. "No, please listen to me. We have known each other since childhood. I have no wish to hurt you. I need to know something."

"What?" She asked, her eyes growing concerned as she dashed at them with her hands.

Lancelot took a ragged breath, steadying himself. Cerys felt his hands slowly loose her, and he stood apart from her, his hands coming up to rake through his hair. He sighed in exasperation and turned away to begin pacing.

"If I were to tell you that I thought of you as more than friend, would you accept me?"

Cerys felt her heart break completely. She reached for his arm, grabbing him. She moved her fingers around the leather, her eyes searching for his again. She couldn't stand it, she had to tell him. Now.

"Lancelot..."

He stopped and stared. He swallowed hard, his throat working. He drew a loud shaky breath and exhaled. She held her breath, watching him gather his thoughts. What was he thinking?

"Cerys, I... I'm in love with you." He croaked.

She gripped harder on his arm and they stared at one another. She could not believe what she was hearing. He loved her? Truly? She blinked, processing his words for a moment, unsure of what to say or do.

"You do?" She asked, holding her breath again.

"I understand if you do not want me... I... I am not an honourable man. I have killed, I have seen things..." He said sadly, moving to sit down on her bed, sagging. He ran a hand over his face. "I have seen things that no one should have to bear the burden of, least of all you."

She lost complete control over her feelings, and she let them out. Her newfound confidence came to her again and she willed her hands to stop shaking as she walked over to him. Slowly, she crawled up onto his lap, straddling his hips. She took his face in both her hands and forced his eyes up to her.

He put his fingers around her wrists, his eyes showing such pain. She knew at that moment that he wrestled with feeling this way, thinking she would not want a man such as him.

"You are more than that, Lancelot. You are not just the mercenary." She kissed his cheeks and took breath to continue. She saw his eyes trying to read her, she felt his body so tense. She ran hands up and down his arms. She wanted so much to ease his torture. She loved him, and he loved her. She just had to say it and it would be true.

"I love the man, and the knight. You are so much more to me."

He crushed her to him and buried his head into her chest. She laced her fingers through his hair. She felt his shoulders relax, his breathing come back.

"You would not despise this side of me?"

"I never have, nor will I now."

He found her lips with his again and kissed her softly. His hand came up and brushed her hair. He was smiling now. She smiled back.

"Love, I have fought this so much." He whispered, touching her lips with a finger, his eyes fol­lowing it. "I truly thought you would not want me."

She laughed very softly. "And I thought you would not want me, for I have fought this feeling. I did not want to be one of your passing fancies."

He hissed in at that and took her chin in his grip, giving it a shake.

"Never." He said, his eyes hard.

She put a hand on top of his and he softened his grip. She smiled again, touching her lips to him again. He groaned and swivelled her down onto the bed, laying her flat out, angling himself to her side. He kissed her cheeks, neck, shoulders. She giggled as he tickled her collarbone with his beard, his lips kissing the point on her shoulder-blade. His hand found her thigh, and he held her close, his fingers kneading.

"Love, you are tickling me." She said as she squirmed.

Love. How easy it had come to her lips. She suddenly felt complete, with him there beside her. His dark brown mischievous eyes she had known her whole life. His sideways grin that made her so happy. His whit, his jesting, his rumbling baritone laughter that was such a part of her, and made her smile each time. It was all here for her, and she had finally realized it. Perhaps Lorina was right; they had been dancing around each other for some time. She had been too pre­occupied to see it until she had let herself feel.

She needed to say it truly; she could not hold it in anymore.

"I love you, Lancelot."

* * *

**Dear Reader:**

Ok everyone... breathe in... breathe out... They have declared! It is writ!

I was nervous posting this chapter. I wanted it to be perfect, and I rewrote it five times before I was happy with it. It's very dialogue and gesture intensive. I hope that it worked!

The next chapter will be posted shortly, I just have to read it one more time decide if I do or don't need a warning. But I had to get this posted.

Admitting love is very hard to do, especially when you don't know what the other person will say. Heart-wrenching and stress-inducing, but euphoric afterwards. I wanted to show that they both gave in, both needed to finally voice it and deal with the decision no matter what happened in the end.

I leave you with your comments and hope that I did not disappoint.

_Cardeia_


	37. Giving and Receiving

**WARNING! **

**This chapter contains sexual themes and situations. This story is rated M, which means that anyone 16+ (mature teen and adult) can read this with no worries. Please do not read further if you do not wish to read content concerning consentual sexual relations. **

**I have attempted to be as soft as possible in my language and have tried not to be explicit.**

**I apologize in advance if I offend anyone.**

**

* * *

Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the character names, save my own original creations. I do not wish to be compensated for this work, nor do I wish to infringe on any copyrights held by any stakeholders of the movie King Arthur. This work is an original creation, based on the legend of King Arthur and his knights.

* * *

**Scribe Notes:**

_Sokorra Lewis:_ It's pronounced "Care-Us" Its a play on Welsh names, and I thought it fit since she sort of does care for everyone. I started out pronouncing it "Saer-is" before I understood some of the Welsh pronounciation key, but either or works. Whichever flows better for you is fine by me!

Thanks for your review and I am glad you liked the chapter. This one was so hard to write too, and when I was done I went and ate chocolate and had a glass of wine. Then a cold shower. (grin)

Enjoy!

_Ailis-70:_ I was working on my dear reader notes when your review came in. I LOVE Swedish Fish!Kind of like Swedish Berries, which my dad loves. Red, sweet and perfect for sticking to dental work. Yum!

I am glad you enjoyed the chapter. Yes, Ioan's eyes are what give me goosebumps. And his hands. For some reason his hands are so entrancing to me I have pictures of him holding coffee cups, and its SEXY. Gah...

Here is the next chapter, I really hope you enjoy it.

* * *

**Chapter 37: _Giving and Receiving_**

Lancelot looked into her eyes as she said it. He felt himself bursting with it. His heart was thumping. Gods! Could it be possible?

He softly ran a hand down her side, her hips, her leg. He was dreaming. She was here, in his arms and had told him she loved him. He was not sure if he would wake soon and have it all gone. Right now though, he was happy to just look to her and revel in the idea that she loved him.

Her smile, her kind eyes, the flush to her cheek. Her tinkling laughter, her confident walk, her graceful delicate frame. All his. In that moment, he knew he had loved her this whole time, he had just not seen it. The cage around his heart, so closely locked and guarded for so many years, crumbled.

"Say it again." he murmured, kissing her temple, then rising on his elbow to watch her, the moonlight pouring in through the window to light her face.

"I love you." She repeated, her hand coming up to play with a curl, spinning it in her fingers.

He groaned as she ran fingers up through his hair. The wanting he had felt the night on the wall came back with a roar. He needed her. He wanted her. Every bit of his body was screaming for her.

But she had never been with another man, of that he was certain. He wanted her this night, and he needed to know.

"Cerys?"

"Mmm hmm?" She answered lazily, her fingers now tracing down his neck to play with the lac­es on his tunic. Her other hand was still playing with his hair. It was driving him mad, and he could feel himself responding to her touch. He wanted her so badly it hurt.

"You haven't... I mean... You've never... Would you..." he stumbled. How to ask such a ques­tion! He was hoping not to scare her away. He didn't want to break this closeness with her. He felt like a complete dolt, unsure of what to say, suddenly bashful to talk about that with her.

She stilled her hands and looked at him. Her eyes changed, they held something more as she realized what he was asking. He waited for her to say something.

"I want to be with you." She said finally, shifting to be closer to him, pressing her hips to his and snaking a hand around his neck, her face to him. She kissed him, opening his lips with her tongue.

A shock went through him as he realized she had just told him that she was willing to give her­self to him. He kissed her back harder, rising himself over her. She moved her legs apart and he cradled his hips in hers. He put a hand to either side of her head and broke the kiss. Both of them now breathing hard. A thought went into his head as he attempted to think clearly on the situa­tion.

"What about Brinn?" He rasped, looking up to the door and then around to where he knew the boy's bed would be.

She shook her head. "Bors invited him to stay with Gillie for the night in the stable lofts. Gillie has never slept there and thought it might be fun. Bors offered to watch over them to make sure they get into no trouble."

"Oh."

He would get Bors for that. Assuming arse.

She giggled softly and undid the laces of his leather tunic. His hands stopped her. He slowly rose from the bed. He was not going to rush this. He had always rushed before when in bed with a woman, but this time he wanted to savour each moment with her. He wanted to make it special.

He wanted to make love to her.

He suddenly realized that he had never made love to a woman before.

He strode over to the door and locked it, then returned to the bed where she was now sitting up. Her hair tumbled about her head, her lips flush and swollen from their kissing. He desired her more then than he ever had since realizing he loved her.

He slowly took off his tunic, making sure the pins in their inner pocket were safe. he pried off his boots and rejoined her on the bed, sitting down with one hand out to look at her. She stared back.

He lifted a foot, and took off her soft leather boot, then moving to the other, doing the same. She laughed softly and grabbed his linen undertunic and pulled him to her. They kissed more, his body coming to rest against her again. He ran his lips down her neck and pulled at the collar of her dress with his teeth, growling slightly.

She sat up and crossed her arms over her chest, grasping the edge of her skirts. She raised it up and off over her head with a swift motion, throwing it well away from the bed. Her underdress was light, and he could see her fully underneath it. He made a small appreciative sound, his manhood responding to her body.

She grabbed at his tunic again, pulling, and he raised his own arms as she lifted it off his body. She kissed his chest, running her hands over it, exploring him. He closed his eyes and put his head back, letting her hands run over his sides, over his chest, up on his shoulders. He could feel her kiss his scars, then rest her lips on the crescent moon scar above his heart. He shuddered and stopped her hands.

"My knight." She breathed.

He pulled at her underdress and it too found its way to the floor. Again he found himself raised over her, drinking in her body.

"Gods, so bloody beautiful." He whispered, his crooked grin playing across his lips. She closed her eyes as he traced a finger down her chest, across her nipples, down her stomach.

She moaned then, stretching under his touch. He could feel himself wanting to burst out of his leather trews, and he willed control. Slowly, he lowered his head and kissed her stomach, trail­ing his lips up and across to grasp a nipple between his teeth. She gasped, her hands coming to his head. He growled.

He teased her a few moments before running his lips back down the length of her body. She parted her legs, and he slipped his hand down between them. So warm, so inviting. He gulped air.

It was going to be hard to hold back.

She gasped as he ran his fingers over her, her eyes flying open to look at him. He smiled then, knowing exactly what he was doing to her. She moaned and pressed herself into his hand. He dipped his head and licked her breast again, as his fingers found her and entered her. Her head went back to the bed; her hands went out to either side, grasping at the furs. She gasped again, crying out.

"Gods!" She breathed.

He smiled into her breast wickedly and grabbed at her nipple with his lips.

"My love, you approve?" He teased as she shook.

She made a small noise and moved a hand up to his hair. She grabbed a fistful and pulled him to her. Her lips found his and she devoured him. He put his other hand out to steady himself as she pressed herself to him.

"Please... I can bear it no more." She gasped. "I need you."

He took a deep breath; those words from her said so much. He steadied himself.

"I don't want to hurt you Cerys." He said, making her look at him. He knew there should be some pain with the first time, and he did not want to cause any of it.

"Please, Lancelot. I want to be with you." She whispered again.

He smiled wickedly again, and moved himself down on the bed so that he was cradling her hips in his hands. He lowered his head between her legs and slowly kissed her, his tongue exploring her. She cried out, her hands again finding his hair and pulling. She began to tremble and let out another cry as she arched her hips to his tongue. He gripped her with his fingers, savouring the wave she was riding. Her cries continued, and he felt himself almost bursting with their sound.

He knew he had achieved what he wanted and he rose, pulling his trews off with his hands, then wiping his mouth as he crawled back up to her.

Her breath was ragged, her chest heaving, her face flushed. So beautiful, he thought.

He placed a hand on either side of her face and levered himself up. He loved her so much, and he was still not quite sure if he was dreaming. He took a shuddering breath, trying to calm his racing pulse. He looked down to her, her eyes glittering with desire. Desire for him.

"Are you ready?" He said, stroking her face with his fingers.

She nodded, her own hands coming up to his face. He raised his hips up between her and slowly entered her. He stopped, and watched her face. Her eyes never left him.

"Oh." She breathed, and blinked slowly.

He closed his eyes for a moment, grimacing as he tried to control himself. It had never felt like this before, and it was incredible. He regained himself and began to slowly move inside her.

Their eyes met again.

"Gods, I love you." He breathed.

"I love you." She said, her hands roving to his shoulders, up over his back, down his arms. She moved her hips with him, rising to meet him.

It was too much. He growled as he felt himself close to exploding. She gasped as he moved his hips, feeling her insides clench at him, slowly pulsing around him. She was going to kill him like this, he thought as he groaned and put his head to the bed beside her shoulder. Her arms came around him and held him, her lips to his shoulder, her noises soft against them, their skin touching.

He could bear it no more. He increased his urgency, his own growls and moans mingling with hers. He held her tightly as he felt himself losing control. He shook with the effort, his muscles rippling.

"Cerys!" He cried as he felt himself giving in to it, exploding and sending his seed deep into her. She held him close, her lips pressed to his shoulder. "Cerys..." he croaked.

He had completely lost control. He could not catch his breath, and despite the chill in the air, he was slicked with sweat. He rose up slightly, a hand coming to brush hair from her face. Her eyes were so full of emotion, he kissed her.

"Are you alright?" He asked finally, when his breath had caught enough to speak.

She nodded, blinking languidly. "Yes."

"No pain?" He asked, a tired smile on his lips. He kissed her forehead.

"No pain." She smiled then, nuzzling him.

He rose and laid himself to her side, gathering her in close. He found a fur and covered them. he kissed the top of her head, her temples, her cheek, her lips. She laughed and kissed him back.

They lay, eyes to one another, silent for some time. He could not believe she had just given her­self to him. Him! She loved him! He kissed the tip of her nose, ran a finger down it, across her lips. She kissed his fingers.

He wrapped his arms about her, and she put her head to his chest. He lay there, listening to her slowly fall asleep, her breath soft on his skin. He closed his eyes and smiled up into the dark.

* * *

**Dear Reader:**

The first time you make love to someone you care about, it is a journey of discovery and a completely mind blowing experience. The sex itself may be so-so, but the emotions behind it are what mean more than anything else put together.

I tried to capture that, as well as give a glimpse into how deeply he cares for her by how he treats her when they make love. He has been a Ladie's man his whole life, only taking in bed. only spending time on his own release, his own enjoyment. For the first time in his life, I think he truly cared about what he gave back, with this ultimate connection. He told her how he felt with his actions.

He finally figured out that by her giving him her virginity, he received something so wonderful and it humbled him.I could compare this to Tristan giving her the dance, this is a completely different situation, similar idea.

I hope I conveyed that, and I eagerly await your responses. I hope I did not offend anyone with the sexual nature of this chapter. If I did, I apologize.

Thank you for all your enthusiam with this story, I am continually amazed at what I bring out in other people.

_Cardeia_


	38. Willingly Captivated

**WARNING! **

**This chapter also contains sexual themes and situations. This story is rated M, which means that anyone 16+ (mature teen and adult) can read this with no worries. Please do not read further if you do not wish to read content concerning consentual sexual relations. **

**I have attempted to be as soft as possible in my language and have tried not to be explicit.**

**

* * *

Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the character names, save my own original creations. I do not wish to be compensated for this work, nor do I wish to infringe on any copyrights held by any stakeholders of the movie King Arthur. This work is an original creation, based on the legend of King Arthur and his knights.

* * *

**Scribe Notes:**

_Ailis-70:_ That chapter was so hard to write! I found myself really fussing over nuances, and I had to step back and look at the big picture. Her giving herself to him, and his changing his ways without even realizing it. This next chapter gets her side of things, and it was much more fun to write.

_lilstrummrgrl527:_ Thank you! I am glad that you saw love, and that you enjoyed it. Here is more.

_ElvenStar5:_ Writers Block sucks. Send me an email, and I can send you some ideas and exercises to give you a hand. Too much to go into here in the notes. I would love to help you break free and create! Thank you for your continued reading! I am glad you enjoy it!

_Calliann:_ Hey thanks! And yes, go Bors. I am glad you found the sexual scenes were ok. I have to warn people, as I think I could be stretching the rating, and I don't want to get any emails of "AH! Sex! NOOOO!" Your praise makes me feel better about how the interaction was written. Here is another side that I hope is done in the same way, I tried to give Cerys' perspective on all this. Enjoy!

_Drew'sgirl_: Your words brought a smile to my face. It is kind of brave to put your work out for criticism and poking at isn't it? I am glad that you see my interpretations and liberties therein as people, and not characters. I love people, and their richness in life and I think that is where I get my muse from. These actors portrayed such vivid characters, and it made me so interested in their human sides. We see glimpses of it, but never the true thing. Plus, I found myself thinking about how sexy armour is... (grin).

I hope you continue to enjoy, here is the next chapter for you!

_Sokorra Lewis:_ OK, more sex in this one, just to warn you. Thank you for reading, despite your aversion to skimming such scenes. Spooky that you would have the double entendre, but how very fun to see Ioan making it. I hope this movie does well for him so we can see more of him!

_Sarita04:_ Hey! Thanks! I never plan on stopping. Look for me on the bestseller list someday, I plan on being there. Probably not until I am well into my 40's, but hey, its a goal! I am so glad you have enjoyed my story, it makes me happy to know that there are people out there enjoying my creative dabbling.

_et cetera et ceterera:_ Thank you! The intention was to really portray their coming together completely. They have known each other so long that I thought that it would be fun to make their first "time" harmonious. They would be able to communicate well on this level.

And YAY! Another Ioan convert! he is a tall, dark handsome man, who has a gift for acting better than I have seen in a long time.

_Samli:_ thanks for your comments for Chapter 1 - Home. I sent you a quick email, and hope that you continue to review the rest of my chapters!

_LovelyHeidi:_ Yes, Tristan will come back in soon. I have a couple of other loose ends to start tieing up, like Brinn, Gawain, the hairpins, and Tristan and Wynn. We are in Act 3 now, time to do the closure thingy. But I havea few chapters to go before I sleep on this ending, don't worry!

_Gwenn0:_ Hey you did just fine! And wow, an account just to review my stuff? Makes me smile. Do you write? Now that you have an account, you could get some muse flowing and post!I am glad you enjoy my Cerys and her knight coming together.

Burnt Alice: Love it. Thanks! More for you here.

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**Chapter 38: _Willingly Captivated_**

Cerys realized that sun was streaming in the window. It had hit her eyes squarely as she opened them. She blinked groggily.

She turned her head and regarded a softly haired chest beside her, still rhythmically rising and falling. Attached to that chest was a rather well-muscled arm, which was draped over her.

She smiled and stretched under the furs that covered her and Lancelot. She tilted her head, rested on his other arm, and looked to his face. His long eyelashes brushed his cheeks, his curls were rumpled, and he was peaceful. She raised a hand and softly brushed hair from his forehead, rel­ishing at the feel of it between her fingers. He made a small noise and burrowed his head further into her hair. She smiled and let him.

She lay back for a few moments collecting her thoughts. Yesterday had been such a whirlwind! First finding out about Arthur's baby, then Tristan, and then... this.

This... Love. After so long with her inner torture here it was all along. She felt foolish, and her mind thought on all their wasted time before she pushed it away. Perhaps it was only now that they were able to see it, not before.

It made her insides dance, it made her want to run about and laugh, shout from the highest wall! She was so giddy at the thought of it that she suddenly felt the urge to get up and put on a fire, to move. She shifted to uncover herself, but the arm still across her waist stopped her, tightening its grip.

"Not yet." Lancelot mumbled. "Stay a moment more."

"And dear knight, just when do you plan on letting me get up and see to our warmth?" She teased back.

He grinned through closed eyes and began kissing her neck. "The warmth I can provide you, without ever needing to get out of bed."

She squealed as he nipped her shoulder, and then opened his eyes. He rose up, the furs sliding down his muscled waist as he levered himself to stare down at her. She put her arms about his neck and regarded him with a slightly petulant face.

"I suppose I am your captive now?" She said, trying her best to put him on. "Is this what you would have asked of me from our bet with Jols?"

He shook his head and chuckled. She played her fingers across his back then, resting them light­ly on his lower spine, barely touching. He closed his eyes again and made a sound in his throat. Se felt him spring to life against her inner thigh.

He kissed her, and she raised herself up to him. She bit his lip, playing her tongue across it. So much she now understood, and so much she wanted to give him. This new way of communica­tion with him made her so excited for their life together. Something in her was different, more confident, more...

She growled and hoisted him onto his back with all her strength, straddling his hips. She reached behind and pulled up the fur, then leaning over to kiss his chest. She half-thought he had just let her do that, his eyes showing such mischief, his crooked grin wrinkling the corners of his mouth.

"So handsome and cock-sure for someone who is now my captive, knight."

"And what makes you think I am?" he threw back. He raised and eyebrow and his grin took on a knowing look. She tilted her head at him, mirroring his jesting look. She felt he was challeng­ing her, and she loved it.

With that he raised her up by her hips and thrust himself into her in one fluid motion. She gasped loudly, her eyes going wide, her fingers digging into the bed on either side. It had felt so good the night before, sharing herself with him, but now... it felt so darkly delicious. It felt so right, right then.

She felt him inside her and she moved forward to bring her face close to his. His eyes were now blazing, and he gripped her hips with his strong hands. His breathing was ragged, and she felt such passion coming from him. This was what it was like, she thought. This was what love could provide.

"Sneaky, my dear. I shall have to punish you for that." She whispered, grasping curls in her hands, pulling his head back and nipping at his neck.

She knew not where this was coming from inside her, this vixen. This was not any Cerys she knew.

She did, however, like it.

They began to move together. His eyes watched her as she ran her hands on his chest, then hold­ing his hands to her as she exploded once more. The waves of pleasure washed over her. She closed her eyes and threw back her head, crying out at the complete loss of control and empow­erment in one moment that this feeling was giving her. He could make her feel so very good so very easily. She felt herself tingling. Gods, this was the same feeling from the wall! This truly would kill her, she thought.

His sounds mingled with hers as she lowered herself to him, kissing him once more. They moved softly, his hands running over her body, grasping at her. He tightened his grip and flipped her onto her back.

"And thus we are back to you being mine again." He breathed, thrusting himself into her deeply. She grabbed at his back and raised her legs to wrap about his waist, levering herself up. He moaned loudly, squeezing his eyes shut and he increased his movement.

"In every way." She replied into his ear, as he pushed himself up to watch her under him and groaned loudly. She played her fingers down his chest to his stomach, running them up his arms, to his face. She could feel him pulsing as his hips moved. She watched his eyes close and open, looking to her. He was so perfectly beautiful. She felt overwhelmed right then.

"AH! Gods!" He yelled as she felt him lose himself in her. He kept himself raised, his head hung between his outstretched arms, his breath coming in gasps. She turned her head and kissed his fist, driven into the bed beside her. His muscled were taut, and vibrating.

She waited for him to regain himself. He slowly lowered himself to her, kissed her forehead and let himself fall limply to her side, groaning.

"The things you do to me woman, just from your touch."

She laughed. This side of Lancelot was so wonderful. It was everything he already was to her from their years together as friends, and more. She felt so utterly complete. He opened his eyes and she turned her head to look into them.

"Was last night a dream? Have I woken yet?" He said quietly, a hand coming out to caress her chin.

She smiled and moved into his embrace. No dream, she thought, this was real, and it was won­derful.

* * *

**Dear Reader:**

And now the fun begins! We know Lancelot is a confident man about the bedroom, but could Cerys be as well? I think so, based on her ability to work hard and be good at running a whole fort. Think ofthe teasing and banter they will be able to foreplay with. How much fun for a writer is that!

Communication together, when in love, can be the most exciting thing. How do you communicate with your loved ones, be they lover or friend? Can you understand them without words? Do you argue and debate happily? To have a person in your life that you can speak with on a level where you derive satisfaction is priceless, and I hope that each one of you has that, somewhere in your lives.

My pen salutes you and moves forward to create the next chapter,

_Cardeia_


	39. Breaking Habits

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the character names, save my own original creations. I do not wish to be compensated for this work, nor do I wish to infringe on any copyrights held by any stakeholders of the movie King Arthur. This work is an original creation, based on the legend of King Arthur and his knights.

* * *

**Scribe Notes:**

_ElvenStar5:_ Glad I was able to help you, and just send me back a note whenever you need a nudge! Your story is very well done, and never forget that what you create can be as wonderful as you want it to be. Each of us has a strength in our writing that makes it beautiful in some way. Its just a matter of seeing that strength and then using it to its fullest potential. Don't let teachers or anyone else tell you what you can or cannot do in your own writing. I say this to many of my writing circle

(and this goes for all of my reviewers and fellow writers on this site who may be reading right now)

**What you write is for you alone and the possibilities are endless. So never give up, because if what youwrite makes you happy, then it is worth every word on that page, and only limited by your own mind's eye.**

_lilstrummrgrl527:_ happiness is important! Here are two more chapters for you.

_Ailis-70:_ You hopefully got my review, I noticed the site was not updating to show any reviews I got yesterday or sent yesterday. So, you have my take on your story, so no moping allowed! You aredoing wonderful!

You got my mind working about how the men would be teasing the pair. I thought and thought on it and I added a chapter between two I had already written, this one and the next. It works, I hope. I also brought into it a bit more on Tristan, since it seemed to fit. I would love for you to tell me if I got his thoughts right. I tried to give him a different feel.

And yes, love is beautiful, and gives strength.

_Calliann:_ You bet! I wanted it to be whole, hence the second scene from her perspective. That and I am enjoying writing the scenes, its a new 'genre' I wanted to try. Unfortunately, i won't be able to let my father read this without blushing (grin).

I am interested in your take as well on the next chapter, which has some Tristan in it. Let me know if you think I got him.

_Burnt Alice:_ Really? Speechless? Hey! Thank you for your compliment, Tristan-style. (wink)

_LovelyHeidi:_ Here are the next two to keep your tears at bay.

_gwenn0:_ You got it! they know each other so well, and get to discover this brand new way to 'talk' to each other. It's wonderful to be able to do so. Your english is just fine. Good luck with your screenwriting, I am working on trying one out myself. So many formatting rules! Yikes!

* * *

**Chapter 39: _Breaking Habits_**

They rose at just before mid day and dressed. Cerys stirred the almost extinguished fire. Lancelot sat on the edge of the bed, and looked about the room, his hair rumpled, his bare torso rippling with coarse muscle as he twisted his back and sighed happily at the familiar popping noise.

Cerys watched him, marvelling at how she had never noticed how magnificent he was before.

Lancelot looked about the room. There were throw rugs on the floor, with seating cushions by the hearth. Books piled in irregular fashion beside them. Large sheets of tapestry hung from the walls, their patterns bright and colourful. A chair near a water table had yet more books piled on it, as well as some tally sticks, maps and a cloak hung off one corner. An armoire stood along one wall, herbs hung from the ceiling. This felt like a home, and he thought of his own dusty and unused tiny room.

He looked to the corner of the room. There, beside Brinn's bed, on its customary stand, was his battle armour. He had never even noticed it gone from his own room, and he shook his head.

"What are you thinking?" Cerys asked as she braided her hair behind her head, weaving a frayed ribbon through it to tie it off. She finished, lowering her hands as he walked over to her and pulled her into his arms.

"I am thinking how interesting it is that my armour is sitting in your rooms, instead of mine where it should be." He cocked an eyebrow to her.

Cerys smiled. "Brinn polishes it in here. He says your rooms are not exactly... warm this time of year."

Lancelot grunted, released her, and walked over to it. He hefted his helmet, the long horse tail plume brushed straight and oiled carefully to keep it tangle free. He ran a hand over his shoulder plates, feeling the familiar dents and bumps from years of use. He looked up to Cerys, she was watching him, a curious expression on her face.

"Brinn does the same thing, you know. He will sit, with a soft cloth, and polish each and every wrinkle in that chestplate. He oils your arming point laces once a week. He runs his hands over it, says he is checking for popped rivets. I think he is imagining wearing armour such as it some­day."

"This armour has been with me a very long time." He said softly, smiling at Cerys' words.

Cerys walked over to him and she too ran a hand over the metal. He watched her fingers playing over the joints. He smiled. She was accustomed to it being here too, he thought. It seemed right that it was here, for some reason, and he followed her hand as she traced the rim on one of the elbow guards.

He lifted his helmet up and lowered it down over her head on a whim. She laughed and brought her hands up to help him settle it. It was much too large for her head and it covered her eyes completely, the cheek flaps hanging almost to her shoulders. The horse tail brushed her lower back.

Lancelot had a hard time not breaking into laughter as he regarded the comical scene, and her grin from under the rim.

"It is so heavy!" She exclaimed then, her voice echoing in the bowl of the helmet, her hands wiggling it. It truly felt a thousand pounds on her head and she struggled to remove it.

Lancelot lifted it off and she smoothed her hair back down, his own laughter joining hers.

"It has to be to stop a sword or axe from cutting my brains from my head." He said jovially, then realizing what he said, sobered. He put the helmet down on Brinn's bed and looked to Cerys. "I mean..."

Cerys shook her head.

He was so conscious about scaring her, and rightly so! She had told him she worried about the men coming home dead. She had mentioned it a few times now, she was sure he was quite aware of her feeling of helplessness. Damn...

She suddenly felt she needed to show him how this part of him did not scare her, did not in any way make him a monster to her. She needed to put her own monster to bed, and end the torture she had put herself through for years on end.

She wanted to start fresh with this new love she had found.

She walked over to her water table, and from the drawer pulled out her black tally stick. There were marks on it halfway up, some old, some newer. She held it up as she walked back to him, her eyes catching his. He looked concerned. He knew what this was. He had sat with her when she made her marks for some of the men, both of them sharing grief.

"You see this? This mark is for Gareth," She pointed, then continuing. "This one for Kaye, Am­har, Loholt, Owain, Pellinore, Derfel..." She continued to point.

This was hard to do and she felt her chest constricting. All these brave men, her brothers, her friends, her cousin's knights. So much grief was symbolized in this little scrap of black dyed wood. So many souls she held onto, for fear she would forget.

No more.

"Cerys please, I do not wish you to worry..." He started, but she shook her head hard to stop him. She paced away again.

"I spent my nights when you were gone worrying that I would have to make another mark on this tally for you, for Arthur, for the others... for Tristan. I carried this tally every day. It would burn a hole in my skirts pocket from the moment you would leave to the moment you returned." She took a shaky breath.

He reached her side and she held the stick up to his face and shook it. He needed to see this, and she needed to do this! She was a new person, and this part of what she was needed to go away.

"Ever since I hurt my hands, I have looked at myself differently. I am not going to control my weaknesses by burying them, and attempt control in my world by putting it on a tally stick."

Cerys snapped the stick in two and with a jerk, threw it in the direction of the hearth. The pieces ­landed inside and burst brightly into flame. She stood for a moment, her hands curled to fists.

She had done it. The old Cerys, the Cerys that would work herself to exhaustion keep her mind from worrying about her family, that would feel so helpless when the men would leave was not real anymore.

The Cerys who would let herself feel, and let herself love, that was real.

Lancelot watched her, slightly taken back by what she had just said and done. He put a hand to her shoulder and she began to cry. He folded her into his embrace. Last night and this morning may have been a large amount for her to handle, he thought. Gods, he was still processing it himself. He rocked her, his lips to the top of her head.

She could be so brave, this woman. What he had just watched her do made his heart break for all the sleepless nights, all the endless worrying she must have buried into her duties. He wished he could have seen this sooner and helped her. He wished he could not give her reason to fear him dieing. He wished... He wished he knew how to make himself immortal and not cause her pain when he would ride out to battle.

Immortal or no, he was here now, and he would try his best to give her confidence, he silently promised.

"There. It's going to be alright." He murmured to her. She sniffed and looked up to him, a rueful smile now coming other face.

"I have wanted to do that for so long."

He knew.

"I can't promise to ever go away again, but I can promise that I will always love you." He mur­mured into her ear as they stood together.

He felt her tighten her arms about his waist. He felt her relax. They stood together for a few mo­ments, the silence around them comforting. The fire popped and snapped, they heard birds and passing people outside her window. The sun shone in and brightened the room for a moment before hiding behind a cloud again.

This was home, he realized. This was truly home.

"Now, do you think we could go find some food in the kitchens? I am starved." He said, break­ing the grasp he had on her.

She nodded and moved to the door to grab her cloak. She looked to him as he found his overtu­nic, donned it and adjusted the laces. He raised his head as he was fiddling with the last one, and their eyes caught.

"What?"

She smiled and held out a hand. He understood what she wanted and he straightened.

They walked out hand in hand, together.

* * *

**Dear Reader:**

And thus she begins anew. Each of us had a moment where we realized we needed closure and Cerys just did that. By opening herself to love with this man, she can now close off her old overworked and worrisome self.

I tried to bring both of their thoughts into this chapter, to signify that they are now together. Did it work or was it confusing? Let me know. Instead of having it from one point of view, I thought it would be fun to mix them.

Cheers for now and on to the next chapter, which is all Ailis-70's fault. Ears to doors! You made my mind become very busy from that comment.

_Cardeia_


	40. Decisions and Announcements

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the character names, save my own original creations. I do not wish to be compensated for this work, nor do I wish to infringe on any copyrights held by any stakeholders of the movie King Arthur. This work is an original creation, based on the legend of King Arthur and his knights.

* * *

**Chapter 40: _Decisions and Announcements_**

Arthur sat chewing on a bit of bread, and regarded his men. He counted five knights, Ganis, Jols and a few others, some of them with their women, as was Bors, and now, it seemed Galahad.

Who was that girl? Cerys had told him once. She seemed nice, if not shy. He would have to speak with Galahad later and see what the man's intentions were towards her. Since these men were here under what originally was his charge, it was to him to provide the offer gift if any of them were to marry. They had no family here to do it. Most of the men would give him their tokens and he would present it to the family. It was strange how some traditions stayed alive. It had made Bors so mad when Arthur had presented Lorina's family with a basket of furs! Arthur chuckled, remembering.

"You're not my bleedin' father." He had yelled when Arthur explained the process to him.

Bors had eventually calmed down, once Lorina had smacked him and told him to shut it.

That was a long time ago, he thought. So many years these men had stayed with him. Sometimes he wondered why. But, he only had to look around and realize that they were family with one another as much as they were family to him. It made him smile and he turned his thoughts back to the situation at hand.

Neither Lancelot or Cerys had he been able to find this morning, and he had eventually sent young Brinn to locate them. Brinn had come back with a red face and mentioned, very quietly, that he had not seen them, but he had "heard" them. Arthur had just laughed loudly and patted Brinn on the head, excusing him. Brinn had run at that point, back towards the stables.

Guinevere, she had clapped her hands, squealing, and darted off in Lorina's direction as soon as he has told her. Women got so excited about love.

It was about damned time.

If Lancelot had been any more of a fool, he would have locked them in a store room together until... ah, it mattered not anymore, he mused. He realized that if they got married, he would have to present the offer gift to himself.

"How ironic." He muttered to no-one, making Guinevere give him a puzzled look from her seat beside him. He shook his head, reaching for another bit of fruit.

"Anyone seen our two lovebirds this morning yet?" Perceval asked as he picked some meat out of his teeth.

Light laughter echoed around the table. Arthur joined them, Guinevere giving him a smack.

"Just tell them, or you won't hear the end of this until he saunters in."

"I'm hoping they come in together." He replied, giving her a wink and turning his head back to his men. "I won't announce about your...our baby until they are here."

Guinevere sighed and turned back to Lorina, who was feeding her own baby. Guinevere made soft noises to the little child, making him smile and gurgle. Arthur heard the sound come to his ears and he felt very, very content right then.

A baby. A son, he hoped.

Now that there could be an heir, he needed to talk to the men about guarding the princeling. Or princess, as Guinevere would no doubt correct him. It would be no easy task to keep her safe and then to keep him safe until he could take over this kingship, such as it was. Hence, he had gathered them for an informal lunch.

Which would soon turn to supper if Lancelot and Cerys did not get out of bed soon.

"He didn't come kick me out of his room last night, so I assume that he didn't make it out of hers." Gawain said.

More laughter echoed through the hall.

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Tristan sat along one edge of the table, quietly chewing and watching his companions. He had not made much noise of his own.

Tristan was having a war with himself in his head.

In truth, his head was pounding from the large amount of wine he had consumed. Last night he had left the hall after he had danced with Cerys, and he had sat on the wall until dawn, thinking. The lack of sleep added to his hangover and his torn thoughts.

He picked another bit of meat off of his own plate and began working on it. Food would help.

He wanted an apple and there were none on his plate. An apple would help him think. He would have to steal one from Bors' plate when he wasn't looking.

Tristan went back to his war, absorbing himself in his thoughts. He didn't want to have two sides to his life anymore. For so many years he had kept himself restrained, thinking that if he just made it through the fifteen years, he could leave, be free and then find a good death somewhere.

He had not wanted to speak, had not wanted to make friends with the people here. He had guard­ed himself completely.

But he had, and now... This was his family. It would be nice not to hold himself in anymore. It had been habit, ingrained from years of forcing.

He wasn't sure where to start.

He supposed last night he had, inadvertently. He had really not expected that from himself, the spontaneity surprised even him. The wine had certainly helped, and he had really liked the book. Cerys was so excited when she had taught him to read the cover when she gave it to him. He liked it when she smiled.

Four years ago he had met Wynn and this slow desire to just live happily had started. He had ignored it for a long time. Now, with new romance around him no matter where he went, it was harder to ignore.

He finished the piece of meat, sucking the juice off his fingers. He really wanted that apple now. He spiked a plum instead and bit into it, wiping the juices off his chin with his sleeve.

Wynn loved plums.

He heard more laughter as Bors told them how he had gotten Brinn to stay in the lofts with Gillie to get him out of her rooms for the night. He shook his head and joined their chuckles.

He was... happy for her, he realized. He smiled as the men made more jokes about Lancelot and his seeming ineptness at bedding Cerys. If only they knew it may have been her to make the first move. He could see her doing that. She could be a strong woman when she knew what she want­ed.

He remembered how stubborn she had been, sitting with him for hours when they were children until he noticed her. She had been so proud of herself when he finally decided she merited some of his attention.

She deserved to be happy, and he knew that Lancelot loved her. He remembered the long nights he would be on watch while they were in the Caer and out on the road, and Lancelot would sit and stare like a fool at a pair of mint sprigs and a needle. He had called him on it, knowing full well he would make Lancelot's temper boil over. It had been fun to see the man get so flustered, but he had hoped it would jog him to action. He had been tired of the mans moping.

Tristan doubted that Lancelot had ever been cared for by a woman before; they normally just came into his bed to warm it, then would leave and take the next man in. There was no real warmth there, just release of need.

Lancelot and he weren't that different.

He had brought warmth into his own bed many times himself, but he was not as open about his own trysts. He felt no need to announce conquests.

Now, he abstained, each time a girl would offer, he would think of Wynn.

He was just as stupid for leaving Wynn behind each time he turned for home. He missed her last night after his dance with Cerys. He had wanted her there so badly he almost went for his horse at dawn to ride and see her. He didn't, Arthur would not have approved.

He eyed Bors' plate, and as Bors turned to talk to Gawain about something, he speared the ap­ple. Bors never even noticed.

There was a reason Bors was never put on watch.

He didn't know if Arthur knew about Wynn, but he did somehow feel safe in having Lancelot know. He had let the man in on his secret, more for the fact that he thought the block-headed fool needed to get out of the fort and work some things out in his head. Obviously he had, since they were not present in the hall, and he had heard them in her rooms all the way from his place on the wall last night.

Sound travels well in cold air.

He was surprised no one else had heard that racket. Lancelot sounded like a bull.

He flicked his glance up at movement from the doorway. Lancelot was standing close to Cerys, their hands locked together, and well into a kiss that would have made Wynn faint had he done that to her. Tristan cleared his throat and pointed to the doorway with his eating knife.

"They're here."

Heads swivelled as he pointed, then clapping and hooting came as everyone saw the two of them kissing. They broke apart quickly, Cerys immediately going red, Lancelot raising an eyebrow and pulling her in, his stride arrogant and a bit proud.

He knew exactly what he had. Tristan snorted under his breath.

It was about damned time.

Cerys was descended upon by Guinevere and Lorina, who pulled her away immediately, both of them talking a so fast even he could not decipher it. Tristan followed her with his eyes, the women with their arms about her, their light laughter tinkling as they headed for the side table where there was more food to be found.

She was happy. Good.

He cut a slice off the apple and held it up and back as she passed. He felt her stop behind him, and the apple leave his hand, and heard the crunch as she bit into it.

"Sister, what trouble have you gotten yourself into?" He asked, not turning around. He heard Lorina snort and move off.

"Nothing I can't handle brother." She said with her mouth full.

He felt a hand come down onto his head, and fingers dig in slightly to mess his hair. He heard her skirts rustle as she bent down, and the sound of her dress material sliding over his leather-clad shoulders as she hugged him from behind.

He closed his eyes. He missed Wynn.

"Thank you Tristan. What you did last night was very special."

Her braid flipped forward and he looked at the thin strand of ribbon weaved through the bottom half, faded now, but still as pretty in her hair as the day he had bought it and thought that it would be. He brought fingers to it, flipping it up. He tilted his head back to see her from the corner of his eye. He heard her small giggle, and felt her hands pat his chest.

"Yes it is." she said, knowing he was wondering at how she had managed to keep that ribbon so long.

He put the braid back down and patted her hand back. She straightened behind him. He could feel her smiling.

She walked off to join the women and find something to eat. He was sure she was hungry, her stomach growling as she had embraced him.

Arthur stood and brought him out of his thoughts. Finally the man was going to announce Guin­evere's baby. He wondered if any of the other men knew. It was most obvious to him, but, he had a habit of watching other people.

He knew things about some of his friends that they assumed were private.

Another apple dropped in his lap as the women passed by him again. He looked up and caught Cerys' eye. She winked.

He needed to find his horse after this and go for a ride. He needed to stop this warring in his head.

It was time.

He closed his thoughts away to listen to his commander, and bit into his second apple.

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

"Friends!" Arthur said as Guinevere returned to his side, locking her arm about him.

Lancelot looked up from where he had taken a seat beside Gawain, and furrowed his brow. Arthur looked much too happy this morning. He flicked a glance to Guinevere, and she was beaming. He felt Cerys settle herself to his side and he put and arm around her.

"Whats up with Arthur? He looks like the cat that found the milk pail."

Cerys put a finger to her lips and winked. Something was up, and she knew. He settled in. This could be one of Arthur's long speeches. He was glad he had Cerys to distract him if it came to spouting off about free-will again.

"My bet is on six paces" Gawain whispered, placing a coin on the table. Galahad nodded and placed his coin.

"Seven."

Several other coins made their way to the table, with bets whispered, much to the amusement of Arthur, as he watched. They always bet on how many laps he would pace as he spoke to them. No one ever came close. Well, Lancelot usually did. But that was usually because Lancelot knew exactly what needed to be said.

Not this time.

A coin was tossed over from Tristan's place, and he nodded. "Three."

"When you boys are done, may I continue?" Arthur asked, humour in his voice. The men stilled and returned to their passive faces. Perceval held back a laugh. Bors threw a plum pit at him.

"Now that we are all here," He glanced to Lancelot, "Guinevere and I have an announcement."

He could see Cerys smile and her eyes sparkle. She sat up on her cushion, her arm wrapped through Lancelot's, and rested her chin on his shoulder. She winked at him.

"Guinevere is with child."

More hoots and clapping sounded. Arthur held up his hands, pacing away from his wife.

"How­ever, this has far reaching effect on all of us here."

The noise died down as the men regarded their commander. Lorina's baby, woken by the noise, made small crying noises as she hushed him again. Bors took the child out of her arms and bounced him about, which brought happy burbles instead of complaints.

"This child will be heir, and as such needs all of your protection."

"Protection? From what? Falling off ponies and skinned knees?" Bors said as he handed his now happy son back to his own wife.

"Such as that is, yes, but more so," Arthur continued to pace, "From outside forces. We cannot let this child become a pawn in the power struggle we find ourselves in."

"So you are asking us, as your knights, to be the princeling's protectors?" Lancelot asked, as he perused Perceval's nearly empty plate for food.

Arthur nodded. "Yes. It is my hope that each of you would find that task an acceptable one."

There were nods about the table, some affirmative noises. Most of the men may have volun­teered for the task, he realized, but he still found the need to ask such things of these men. They were, after all, here on their own volition.

"What about his champion?" Galahad asked.

"He would have all of you."

"All of us?" Perceval asked, standing and walking to the side table to refill his cup. He turned after he had done so, taking a sip. "We would be able to bicker amongst ourselves if pressed to defend your princeling's honour?" He gestured to the men now in front of him, a jesting smile on his face.

There was laughter at that, knowing full well that it would be the case. Arthur watched his knights for a moment as they talked amongst themselves, bantering about who would be best to serve the new heir.

He knew then that his child would be safe. These men were the finest fighters he knew, and all understood the implications. He felt satisfied that he had put the thought into their brains, despite their humorous notions. He did not need to continue with his speech.

"Good. Then it is settled." He said, "Now, let us drink to family, and this happy news."

Yeas echoed as each man and women raised their glass and then drank deeply. Talk amongst the men started again, and much teasing towards Cerys and Lancelot, who were not going to get away so easily from their entrance a few moments before. Cerys again blushed deeply as she was teased just as hard as her new lover.

"Who won?" Someone suddenly asked.

"Tristan." Gawain said, as he pushed the coins into a heap.

Tristan looked up from his spot, rose and wandered over. He picked up the coins silently, jin­gling them in his hands. He looked about quietly and then made his way to Arthur.

"It's going to be a girl." He said as he reached the man, a small smile on his face.

"You're sure?" She asked, and handed a coin to him. He raised an eyebrow. She shrugged. "I bet four."

Arthur gave his wife a hurt look but then chuckled. "My wife..."

She stuck her tongue out at him "It might just be a girl, you know."

Tristan looked at the extra coin for a moment and then pocketed the lot of them. He grasped Arthur's hand and they shook.

"Permission to ride?" He asked.

Arthur nodded and walked away from Guinevere, motioning for Tristan to follow him. They stopped a few paces away, and Arthur looked to the scout.

"Permission granted. Usual run?"

Tristan nodded curtly, spinning on his heel to leave.

"Oh, and Tristan?" Arthur added, "Buy her something nice with your winnings on your way there. Women like that kind of thing."

Tristan stopped. Arthur could see the scout thinking, processing what he had just said. He shift­ed his weight from one foot to the other, then continued on his path out of the hall.

Arthur chuckled and shook his head as he walked back to his wife. For a man who watched peo­ple like a hawk did, he certainly hadn't seen that one coming.

* * *

**Dear Reader:**

What fun I had with this. I wanted to put in more direct teasing but I thought it more poignant for Tristan to get the first barb in. Truly, he would enjoy that. Besides, the cacaphony of jests, barbs and little jokes would be much too much to put into one chapter. I should spread them out, no?

We all know that the men would rally to protect any child of any of the men. Arthur's intended speech was cut short by the men's complete acceptance, which did not surprise him as much as make him happy that they were there. After so many years together, they are like brothers.

Tristan is thinking about a new way of looking at life too! Cerys has done so, Lancelot has finally accepted it, it is his turn. Not so fast will this happen but I wouldn't want to give it all away!

Thank you for your continued reading. I am really enjoying writing these chapters as we discover the good life in the middle of winter in a Post-Roman fort. I may not be factually accurate, but love is for the ages, and its roots never change.

_Cardeia_


	41. Overflowing Empty Nest

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the character names, save my own original creations. I do not wish to be compensated for this work, nor do I wish to infringe on any copyrights held by any stakeholders of the movie King Arthur. This work is an original creation, based on the legend of King Arthur and his knights.

* * *

**Scribe Notes:**

_All:_ In the past few days, I have gotten reviews and emails about Cerys that have overwhelmed me. To know that she has touched so many of you in such a positive way has humbled me completely. At one point I just sat and stared numbly at my computer and blinked. I have affected people in such an amazing way and its wonderful.

Thisstarted asan exercise for me to shake the rust off my writing muscles. It has turned into so much more.

Thank you each and every one of you for your encouragement, enthusiasm and above all else, your continued reading of my story.

On to comments:

_drew'sgirl:_ I can't forget you. Thank you for your email. You touched me very deeply with your words.

_LoVeLeE826:_ Hey! Thanks for reading, and your email. I hope you find the stories that you are looking for.

_lilstrummrgrl527:_ I wanted to give a wee tribute to Bernard Cornwell with those names, I hope you liked that bit, despite the fact I used the twins and Derfel's first commander Owain. Don't worry, all were good men in my mind's eye.Derfel will always be my favorite knight and I saluted him, in my own wierd way.

_Ailis-70:_ Don't worry, I will, just not yet. I am so glad you enjoyed my chapters, especially the one that magically appeared. You know, I wrote _Decisions and Announcements_ in an hour! I was motivated. I don't want Tristan to every be sappy. That's not his way. He calmly feels, he senses things. Hence the language where he feels, then hears, then sees things. He can seperate his senses.

_Calliann:_ The humour in that was good. I enjoyed writing that in. I was downstairs folding laundry and i was mulling over the ending to it, and I said "OH!" and ran upstairs with a fistful of underwear to write it in. Voila, a chapter in under an hour, plus laundry. I am woman! Watch me multi-task! I will eventually let you in on how it went, but not yet.

_Babaksmiles:_ You know it... I saw Ioans pics from the MTV movie awards... His curls! They are gone! He has a new hairstyle that is quite straight, and he reminds me of Rob Lowe. That's ok, really... (grin). Oh dear I may have just dated myself. He is a rocker at heart that boyo... Iam glad you thought the love scenes were tasteful. I have always wanted to try my hand at that type of writing. it was fun. Here is two more chapters for you!

_LovelyHeidi:_ So glad it worked for you! I may not do that too much, since I have some other people I want to bring in. I want to bring some Brinn thoughts in, and I have a special chapter planned where I gave some new people a chance to be heard. I had not brought the black tally out since chapter 2: _Silence_, and that was deliberate. Those tally sticks are part of her world and she carries importance with them. In essence she is breaking a part of her when she destroyed that tally.

_Sokorra Lewis:_ Gawain, I am still wrestling with him a bit. I have a few ideas of how to sew that end up but I want it to be believable. Tristan is indeed changing and thinking. I have plans for that man. Perceval will make more mischief, don't worry about him! I am glad I inspire your writing. You help me too!

_bloodredcherry:_ I like that you found the love scenes in chapter 37 believable. Thank you for your review!

_LilChOkLaTePiG_: You are most welcome to it! Use it, post it, scream it! Whatever you want to do with it to inspire you, it is yours to use. I am so glad you found those words helpful. I really do enjoy being able to give people words to help them create.

_gwenn0:_ Really? June 12th? Well then Happy St. Valentines! I am glad the combined point of view for that pivotal chapter worked for you. I want to bring in more thoughts from other characters now that we have the couple together. I wanted to get their impressions. Throughout I have scattered others in, like the chapter where Brinn finds Cerys asleep over her tallies in the hall, and when Arthur finds out about Cerys almost dieing. I elude to Tristan a bit when he watches Lancelot walk out of the Caer's stables after he tells him he's afraid of loving Cerys.

I want to show that they are seeing the two together, and that they are all converging as a family. I have a fun chapter coming up that will explain all this, and is a bit of an experiment. But, you do make sense. I think my own ideas have evolved with this story, and that has let me into more of the characters essences, and provided me with the muse to write from their minds. This chapter comes from Brinn, and the next is both a Cerys/Lancelot.

* * *

**Chapter 41: _Overflowing Empty Nest_**

Gawain shoved the last of Lancelot's things into a chest and stood, blowing hair out of his face.

"Last one?"

Lancelot nodded. He slammed the lid of the chest closed, and they each grabbed a handle. Grunting, Gawain lifted his side and they carried it out the door into the winter sunlight.

Cerys stood, her arms folded, her foot tapping. "You have more clothes than I do!" She ex­claimed, her eyes flashing happily.

Lancelot grinned and winked to Gawain. Gawain hid his smile and he looked at Cerys.

"He's always been a clotheshorse, you know that. Look at all his pretty tunics, for the Gods' sake."

Cerys laughed at that and turned to follow them as they carried the chest down the apartment row towards her rooms. Lancelot gave Gawain a dirty look that made the blonde man laugh even more. They shuffled down the row under the portico.

Once inside, Gawain brushed his hands off and straightened. Lancelot had put an arm around Cerys and they stood, surveying the four trunks, second armour stand and weapons that now filled the room almost to capacity. Gawain joined them, his eyebrows raised as he looked to the amassed possessions of the knight.

"Well, we can always stack the chests." Lancelot offered, the realization hitting him that spend­ing this much time in one place made one gather things. "Or... I could throw some of it away."

Cerys made a small strangling noise as she tried not to laugh. She pushed at one of the chests and then looked to the far wall, narrowing her gaze and thinking.

"We can fit it." She said, her face setting into the all too familiar "Lady of the Fort" look.

"Oh?" Lancelot asked, his grin evident that he was waiting for her logic to astound he and Ga­wain.

"If I can stack a storeroom half this size with winter provisions I can fit four chests and some armour and weapons." She stated, moving away from the two men, making small noises and looking.

Brinn arrived at the door, his own eyes wide at the amount of clutter now in the room. He stepped inside and over to his bed, picking up a set of cloths and some lye soap. He seemed a bit apprehensive, and Lancelot turned to him.

"Brinn! Where do you think we should hang the swords?"

Brinn looked to Lancelot. This man, his employer, his mentor and the man he most admired, was now moving in with Cerys, his closest friend. He saw that Lancelot and Cerys seemed very happy. He was trying to be, but he was also worried.

Brinn was worried that it meant they would make him move back to the stables, and he really liked living with Cerys, and having a bed.

Truthfully, Lancelot had been here every night now for a month, and Brinn had taken to spend­ing nights in the stable loft again on occasion. He wanted to give Cerys her privacy with him, he could see the way they would look to each other, he over sharpening a weapon or fixing chain mail, she from a book. He would take his leave quietly. Cerys would ask him each morning why he left, but then giving him a hug and telling him that she wanted him to stay. Some nights he would stay, and he would listen to them talk softly as he lay in his bed, and he would smile.

They were his family now.

He had stayed with Cerys when the knights had gone on a three day run just a week ago. She had seemed to need his company. He read her a book with a story about an Egyptian boy named Joseph and his magical coat. He was quite a good reader now and it made him happy to read to her. She would sit on a cushion in front of the fire and work on her tally sticks, smiling and nod­ding when he would struggle with a word.

She had not gone to stand on the battlements once while they were gone, the way she normally would, pacing until it was dark. He liked this new Cerys. She was much calmer and he felt that he had somehow helped her. It made him happy to see her relax and laugh.

This turn of events had made him begin to think that he might like to have a place of his own. He was going to go into training in the spring, and he would want to start behaving more like a knight, and less like a boy. He was thirteen summers soon! Lancelot, from Cerys' stories, had barely been that old when he came here, and he had been given his own rooms. At least he thought he had.

"Uhh... above the hearth." He said, not looking up. He fiddled with the cloths, folding and re-folding them.

Cerys walked over to him and she put an arm about him. She gave him a squeeze and smiled as he looked at her.

"Never think you are not welcome here Brinn. This is a change, but this does not mean that you must leave. Only leave when you are ready."

Brinn blinked, and saw that Lancelot was nodding. Gawain winked to the boy, and he quietly turned to step out of the room. Lancelot turned an eye to him as he left and nodded his thanks.

Brinn nodded, swallowing. "I understand."

"Must be going, see you tonight." Gawain said, then ducked through the door.

"However, we have an offer for you, should you like." Lancelot said, sitting down on a chest and leaning on his thighs.

Cerys patted Brinn's shoulder, and she too found a spot on another chest to sit. He stood and looked to one, then the other. Lancelot cleared his throat.

"It seems that there is now an empty room where I used to..." he halted, giving a small snort and smiling, "To keep my things. Since you are going to be in training soon, we thought you might like to have your own."

"But only if you want to!" Cerys added, her face showing a bit of concern. "We aren't kicking you out Brinn. We just want you to have the privacy that a young man should. But it is your choice."

Brinn processed the decision for a moment.

"I can still come visit you and read?" he asked slowly, turning the cloths in his hand.

"Of course." She said.

He twisted the cloths a few more moments, biting his lip. Lancelot shifted in his seat, rubbing his jaw, his face showing concern that the boy was upset. Cerys gave him a look and then touched Brinn' arm.

"Brinn... sweetheart, please don't be sad. I want...We both want you to be happy."

He nodded again and then sighed loudly. He didn't want to hurt her feelings, leaving her. But his own rooms...

His own rooms...

He could fill it with books and rugs and have a big bed... Hang his own swords above his own hearth! Have his own armour on his own stand!

He threw his arms around Cerys. She had given him so much. She blinked.

"Alright." He said as he released her. Lancelot stood up and crossed over to where Brinn was standing and clapped the boy on the back.

"Excellent! Let's help you carry your things! Klyndd's tack can wait until later; we can move you in right now since my things are all now here."

Brinn gathered up his meagre possessions and put them into a sack. He closed the drawstring and looked to the bed. "Will this need to go too?" He asked, looking at it.

Cerys gathered up the furs and the bedding and folded them as Lancelot tore down the curtain. Brinn watched them work together, folding the large expanse of material. Every time Cerys would walk up to him with an edge, he would reach over it and kiss her, and she would giggle.

He hoped someday he would fall in love with a girl, and be able to fold cloths with her, so he could give her kisses like that.

He waited as they finished, and Cerys picked up the pile.

"No, Hywel can come get the bed. Lancelot's old bed should do you. It may need dusting, how­ever.

Brinn giggled, and earned a look from Lancelot. He smiled broadly. "My own rooms!"

Cerys picked up the linens and furs and they exited. Brinn hesitated and looked back once, then squared his shoulders, running to catch up to Lancelot and Cerys.

"My own rooms!" he said again as he caught up to them.

Lancelot pulled the young boy into a lock with his arm as they walked, and rubbed his knuckles over his head. They both laughed, and play-tousled for a moment. Cerys rolled her eyes and stepped into the room ahead of them to begin the cleanup and help Brinn get settled.

"I'm glad you approve son." Lancelot said as they got to the doors. He smiled down to the boy and winked.

Brinn felt, at that moment, like he was king of the world.

He had called him Son.

* * *

**Dear Reader:**

Brinn is growing up, and Lancelot just loves those Freudian slips! He doesn't really realize that the affectionate term an older man uses for a young man just made Brinn so very happy. but, in a sense, he is a son to Lancelot. Lancelot has given him the means to grow, and a moral compass! This also means that Cerys is his surrogate mom. As he says,

"They were his family now".

I wanted to give an easy out for Brinn to be on his own, and thus make the change needed to be a knight. This will be clearer with a future chapter. I bet you all expected me to give Lancelot's rooms to Gawain didn't you... (grin wink)

On to the next chapter!

_Cardeia_


	42. Pinning Hopes

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the character names, save my own original creations. I do not wish to be compensated for this work, nor do I wish to infringe on any copyrights held by any stakeholders of the movie King Arthur. This work is an original creation, based on the legend of King Arthur and his knights.

* * *

**Chapter 42: _Pinning Hopes_**

Cerys ran her fingers over the book she placed on Brinn's bed, walked out the door and closed it quietly. She took Lancelot's hand and smiled sadly. It was quite a day for her. Brinn had moved out, Lancelot had moved in. Her life was forever changing.

She was very happy, even if she was not showing it right then.

"Alright?"

"He will be happy in that tiny little room. I'm just going to miss him." she said quietly.

"But you now have me to keep you company." Lancelot said impishly. "With all my armour and chests and weapons and tack..."

How he could make her smile so easily! Cerys rolled her eyes and pushed him away.

"We will need a storeroom just for your things alone! I have no idea how you fit into that tiny space with all those trunks."

Lancelot feigned hurt and they both laughed. She ran ahead of him then, her skirts held high, and he let out a surprise yell, sprinting to catch her easily around the waist. He picked her up, swing­ing her around. Nimli gave them a hello as she passed with an armload of laundry, and Cerys waved, laughing hard now, as Lancelot dragged her backwards by the waist.

"You two." Nimli smiled as she passed. Cerys stuck her tongue out and Lancelot winked. Hap­piness surrounded them. She wanted to share it with everyone!

Lancelot picked her up with one motion, sweeping her legs up into his arms. She threw her arms about his neck, and he strode away with her, his eyes sparkling mischievously.

"And where do you think you are taking me?" Cerys asked, attempting to be indignant. She laughed and ran fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling softly. He looked back to her and growled lowly. She had a good idea, but she wanted to tease him.

"I think you know."

Lancelot gritted his teeth and continued to walk back towards their room as she reached up and tickled his neck with her lips, pulling more with her fingers entwined in curls. Oh how much fun it was to instigate this with him! She revelled in it, feeling his muscles ripple as he fought the desire she knew she woke in him as he carried her.

He kicked open the door and strode in, setting her down. He stepped back to the door and slammed it shut.

Before he could turn around, she had grabbed at his arm, spinning him about, dragging him to­wards the cushions at the hearth. He was undoing the laces of his tunic as she backed up, towing him with her. Her eyes met his and she raised an eyebrow, biting her lip suggestively, her own free hand loosening her skirt belt.

"Such a vixen you have become." He teased as they both lowered themselves to the cushions. "I shall have to make sure I keep my eye on you."

She let out a giggle and she pushed him over, finishing the job he started on his tunic. He sat up again and put an arm to her waist, locking her to him. They stilled for just a moment as he looked into her eyes, a soft smile playing on his face. He made a happy sound in his throat, one arm around her, the other stretched out to the cushion to support him. He tilted his head as his eyes read hers, her hands on his chest. She tilted her head, and her smile mirrored his.

What was he thinking? She softened in his gaze. How she loved sharing herself with this man. How a part of her he was now.

"What?" She whispered.

"Nothing. Just taking a moment to look at you."

"And what do you see?" She asked back, teasing.

He kissed her then, and pulled her down fully onto the cushions, her happy laughter echoing out of the window into the air outside.

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

She was tracing a scar on his chest, watching the firelight play off his eyes. He lay on his back, head turned to watch her. The light behind her hair was highlighting her, and he brushed a bit away from her face. How he loved her hair. The softness in his fingers, the wildness of it when she danced, or after they made love.

"Do you think that Galahad and Dory will marry?" Cerys asked idly.

Lancelot thought on it a moment. "I don't know, he seems much taken with her. If he does, Ga­wain may need to find new lodgings. She lives in the women's quarters, no?"

Cerys nodded.

Marriage. It had been on his mind more for a few days. Arthur and he had spoken about it not long after he and Cerys had made it public that they were a couple, but he had put it out of his mind, until now.

Arthur had pulled him into the grain room in the stables as they were leaving on a ride three days after Arthur's announcement. He had looked a bit bashful, and Lancelot had assumed it was about Cerys.

"I'll not hurt her Arthur, you know that." He had said, wanting to relieve the man.

Arthur nodded and cleared his throat. "Well, I just wanted you to know that if you choose to, you have my blessing to marry."

Lancelot had furrowed his brow then and he and Arthur had stood silently as Lancelot had proc­essed that bit of information. Marriage. It sounded very official for a love and a coupling he was still discovering for himself.

He had finally sighed, and the men clasped arms, nodding to one another.

"Thank you Arthur." was all he really could say. Arthur had smiled then, and they continued with their preparations.

Lancelot brought himself out of the thought and again looked to her. She had sat up to find the flask of wine they had brought over to the hearth, and was reaching for the cups. She turned to him again, and his heart leapt at her smile.

He really couldn't see himself ever loving another. She was such a part of him now; he loved sharing himself with her this way.

Marriage was a big step, but for some reason, the past few days had warmed him to the notion. Now that they were sharing rooms, it seemed to make more sense. His mind went to the hairpins still sitting hidden in one of his chests. He had not given them to her yet, for some reason. He had wanted the moment to be perfect.

This was it, he thought suddenly. He would give them to her now, and then he would...

He got up from the cushions and went over to one of the chests still sitting in the middle of the rooms. He opened it and rummaged through.

"What are you looking for?"

"You'll know in a moment." He replied, still moving things about, looking for the wrapped package. He had wrapped the pins in the linen roll that Cerys had given him, mint and all. It seemed proper, and he carried it out with him each time they rode. It was as if he took a part of her with him each time, and it was comforting to him.

He never mentioned it to any of the other knights, he knew it would be the source of much teas­ing if so. It had been enough that he was ribbed for days on taking so long to bed Cerys. He had been filled in on the fact that they had been waiting for years for him to finally do so. It made him feel very much the fool, and quite defensive about his love for her.

The only one not to tease him had been Tristan. But Lancelot knew why. Tristan had simply looked at him and said, "Don't hurt her." Tristan would never fear him hurting her, that was certain.

He had not waited to bed her; he had only realized he loved her. There was a difference! And now, he was about to make it permanent.

He found the small package at the bottom, the mint emanating off of it. He lifted it. Such a won­derful smell. He would never grow tired of burying his head into her neck and catching her scent. The mint gave him resolve. He turned and made his way back over to the cushions, sitting down beside her.

"There's already mint in this wine." She teased as she saw him with the roll. "I can't believe you would not have used all of it by now."

He chuckled and slowly unwrapped the roll. Both branches of mint were still there, much dried and cracked. He watched her eyes drop to his hands as she saw the pins, now sitting on the palm of his hands, on top of the mint. She put her cup down.

"These are for you." He said, suddenly nervous.

He watched her pick them up and turn them in her fingers; her lips parted slightly, her eyes dart­ing over them. Gods! This was making him more nervous than when he would go into battle! He found his cup and took a long gulp. He needed some liquid courage right then.

"These... these are beautiful." She breathed.

She turned them in her hands more, and furrowed her brow, bringing the flat sides together. He caught his breath as she looked to the lion now staring out at her. Would she see the connection?

"Did you make these?" She asked, looking up at him. "This is your lion!"

He shook his head. He couldn't speak right then, his nerves were not allowing him to trust his voice.

She returned to them, and then she flipped them. Her eyes went wide, and her lips began to trem­ble as she brought the sides together. He could see tears coming to her eyes. His heart stopped. What had she seen to make her so upset?

"Love, what? I'm sorry..." He started, reaching a hand out to her.

Cerys shook her head and raised her eyes to him. "Where did you get these?"

He sighed. "They came from an old woman who was married to the armourer that was here when we were children. Do you remember him?"

She nodded. "Sabin. He was a dear old man. His wife was..." She ran a finger down over the cameo.

"Rhia."

"But that does not explain how..." she halted, her tears falling slowly, wistful as she rubbed the pins.

"How what?" He asked, worried now.

Cerys lifted the pins, the two brought together and the cameo facing him.

"That is my mother."

Lancelot registered shock on his face. He had seen Cerys, Arthur had seen Guinevere, Galahad believed it was Dory. Now, Cerys was seeing her mother. These pins, they were... He shook his head to clear his thoughts.

There was something bigger than any of them working here. He did not believe in such non­sense, but this was strange enough that it made him think about the possibility. It stood to reason that she would see a woman that she cared for too. If he ever got to talk to Rhia again, he would ask her what in the Gods names this meant.

"I believed it to be your likeness when Rhia gave them to me."

She smiled through her tears. "Really?"

"Yes. When I met Rhia, I asked her how your face would be there, when the pins were made by her husband, for her."

"She was a good friend to my mother. Didn't she and Sabin leave for the coast when he left the fort?"

"Yes."

"So you met her when you went on the coast run with Tristan." Cerys said, smoothing the pin in her hand, holding the two sides together and smiling now, her tears drying.

"I did." He replied. He held his breath. He didn't want to give anything more away. Tristan's sanctuary was not to be discussed, even with Cerys. He needed to change the subject, and he had a good idea how.

It was now or never, he thought.

Funny how this felt so familiar to the night he had told her he loved her. He drew a shaky breath and willed himself to keep calm. His heart was beating in his chest and he felt like he was be­ginning to sweat.

He took the pins from her hands gently.

He flipped the pins so the sides were together, and the engraving lined up. She watched him, her eyes curious.

"Can you read that?" he asked, holding the sides out for her to see.

Cerys squinted, her eyes moving over the text. She nodded then, blinking and then looking up to him once more. He could see the recognition in her eyes. She opened her mouth, then closed it, seeming to want to speak. She took a breath.

"Knight and Lover as One." She said so quietly, her eyes never leaving his face.

He folded the pins into his fist and reached for her then. He cupped her chin in his hand.

"Cerys, those words mean more to me than you know." He started, then clearing his throat again. "I love you."

She was darting her eyes back and forth across his, and he could see the love coming from her. He could see it! This was right. This was what he wanted more than anything in the world.

"I love you, Lancelot. These are truly a beautiful gift."

"I want..."

This was more difficult than he expected, and he stumbled on his words. He decided to just blurt it out.

"Marry me."

She stopped moving, her eyes now locked to his. A hand came out and made its way to her mouth, covering it. He could see it shaking. This was not a good sign. He couldn't look away from her, but he was beginning to wonder if he had upset her. He seemed good at doing that this evening.

"Cerys?" He ventured.

She dropped her hand from her mouth and very carefully took the hairpins from his hand. She wound her hair up into a knot and stuck them through, slowly poking and fiddling at the back of her head until she was happy they would not come loose. She dropped her hands and moved them to his, grasping them, lacing her fingers with them. He could see her thinking. She looked at him quizzically as he bent his head to catch her eye again.

Was this a yes? He wasn't sure. His heart was in his mouth, his hands shaking. He moved closer to her, tilting her chin. She looked up at him, a bright smile coming to her face.

"Cerys, please... say anything!" He pleaded with her.

"Yes." She said, a few tears falling as she smiled.

"Yes?"

"Yes."

Lancelot grabbed her up in an embrace and laughed. Yes! She said yes! She laughed then too, and then he kissed her, hard.

"Bloody Hells woman you take your time answering questions." He said as he stood, pulling her up with him.

She giggled and touched the hair pins. "I thought I had."

He laughed at that then too. She touched his cheek and they stood a moment more, holding each other. She broke from him, shivering at their nakedness, and no longer being by the fire.

"Let's go find something to eat. We also have to make an announcement." He said, wiggling his eyebrows. She nodded, patting his arm as she looked about the room for her discarded clothing.

As she turned away to reach for her underdress, he looked to the pins in her hair. He noticed that one side showed half a lion's face, the other, half of her cameo.

He realized that he finally understood both meanings in that inscription.

He had decided, from his long night by the fire thinking, that the words meant he needed to see the other side of himself in order to love her. He had finally seen both knight and lover.

Now he knew the other.

* * *

**Dear Reader:**

Do you see the other meaning?

I lived through the memory of the first time I was ever proposed to when I wrote this. Funny, that same night was the first time I ever felt a kiss in love, and I used that same memory for their kiss on the walls! I should post that piece I wrote up on my fictionpress account as my introductory posting.

Someday I really do hope to be proposed to again, and get married. It's hard, as a woman getting older, to see all her friends marry, have babies. They call it a biological clock. I think mine is ticking. But, I also know that I have miles to go before I can do those things in my life. When I am ready, I will take that step with my partner at my side.

Now is the perfect time for Lancelot and Cerys.

Thank you for keeping my muse flowing, and I hope that all the gifts in your life can give you meaning as does Cerys' hair pins.

_Cardeia_


	43. Fresh Memories

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the character names, save my own original creations. I do not wish to be compensated for this work, nor do I wish to infringe on any copyrights held by any stakeholders of the movie King Arthur. This work is an original creation, based on the legend of King Arthur and his knights.

* * *

**Scribe Notes:**

_All:_ Sorry for the delay in posting! I just spent the most wonderful weekend in Prince Edward County, here in Ontario, Canada. I discovered a winery there (it's a grape region) was holding a medieval joust, so I had to go! It was quite fun, and they played the King Arthur soundtrack while performing their display of knightly bravery, much to my delight! That plus wine, I was a happy happy girl. So, I came home Sunday night much relaxed, and realized I hadn't posted for almost a week! Alright, on to comments:

_et cetera et cetera:_ I forgot you last time and I am sorry! I am glad you enjoy the way I let emotions show, I am hoping I have improved that aspect of my character development. Brinn is very endearing, he really did become more of this story than I thought he would!

_lilstrummrgrl527:_ Yes, I would have too, but Cerys handled it well I think. I remember not knowing what to say or do when my first fiancee knelt down. I can remember hauling him up and kissing him before saying anything. We were young, it was a heady time. Marriage is not taken lightly back then, but this is a romance and I can have it any way I want. I cannot wait for that chapter, I haven't written it yet. Some things have to happen first!

_Sokorra Lewis:_ I like smilies but, as a technical writer, use the (grin) instead. I find smilies don't stand out enough in my writing style. Ech... I'm a freak, what can I say. I have started a new fic, still working the details, it's called Dust Devils, and I think you will find some familiar rings to a bit of it. (BIG grin and wink) I will post it soon.

_Calliann:_ Thank you for reviewing it! I found your new fic and hopefully you got my reviews. It's great! I thought the pins would be a better proposal gift than a ring. They meant so much to Lancelot when Rhia gave them to him, so they hold much symbolism for the two of them together.

_Ailis-70:_ In reality, I could have put anothe chapter in there, but it would have been filler, so I skipped forward. Truth, a month in to a relationship isn't much time before he shoves all his damned stuff into her rooms, but, as you said they do have a history together and it makes it easier. He also hated his own rooms, and was there every night anyways.

Lancelot is a clotheshorse! I noticed in the movie he has quite afew fancy outfits compared to the others. He seems to have done well for himself being a slave, and perhaps a second in command. In truth, I bet he would have been one of those men who took advantage of all the shaving services of the Roman bath servants, if you know what I mean (wink). he was a bit vain in a lot of hte legends, so that stands to reason that his armour, tunics and doublets would be perfect, and numerous.

I am glad you see a bit of you in Cerys. She has a bit of me in her too! I wanted to make her a believable woman, and a woman that others could identify with. It's so important in a heroine to be able to let your main readers feel as if they could be her. I learned that from a workshop with a romance author. One of those golden crumbs you hang on to.

Gawain isn't ready to leave his brother yet, but is his brother ready to move on from him? Now that Dory is in the picture, things could get pushed along a bit.

I wanted Cerys to see a woman that she found important in her life, to mirror the "magic" that the other men saw. So, I thought of who would be important to her and came up with her mother who perished with Arthurs mother in the fire. It made sense.

_Burnt Alice:_ I could, I know! But I still have to tie up loose ends like Gawain and Brinn and Tristan and Wynn. Gah! I do have an end in sight but not yet. I like reflective, and this chapter is just that so I hope that it conveys the same effect you have seen in previous chapters. thank you for your kind words, as always.

_LovelyHeidi:_ Thanks! I am glad it touched you! I was a big mushy pile of "awww" when I finished it. (grin)

_gwenn0:_ The other meaning of the inscription is that knight (Lancelot) and his lover (Cerys) are now one with his proposal. Hence how he saw it with half his lion showing, and half her face when she had the pins in her hair.

I originally wanted to give the room to Gawain and have Brinn move in with him. but I thought that might be a bit wierd since Gawain has issues with his sleeping. I will give Gawain an interesting dilemma soon though.

_Babaksmiles:_ Oh you! A bundle would be lovely, but wouldn't that just give Lancelot the "deer in the headlights" look? Precious! Thank you for your kind wish. I do too! Someday it may happen, but I'm not holding my breath (grin).

_Lady11Occult:_ Hey! Thanks! I like that you see insight in my characters, its something I was striving to improve with this first foray. I am so glad you found my story and I hope you continue to enjoy!

_History2:_ YAY! I am so glad you reviewed I have been waiting excitedly for your next one. So glad you thought the sex scenes were tasteful. They were not easy to write, but wow was it ever fun at the same time! I am glad you saw humour in Bors little "plan". I thought Bors would be best for that since he would have the perfect excuse to bring Brinn in with those kids. And Bors knows how to get kids to do things since he has had lots of practice. In truth, he's kind of a big kid himself, that is one of the sides of him I see and feel. Hence his love for them, and his ability to relate to them. Ray Winstone did such a good job with him, giving him that horribly crass man with a heart of gold. I see an ex-boyfriend in him, and it brings a smile to my face whenever I watch the movie. I remember the good times with that man, which were a good time in my life. Remembering is good for the soul, helps us to centre ourselves.

I'm glad you liked the ending of the last chapter! It felt right. the next one was fun, and I really hope you enjoy, I laughed so hard when I was writing it I had to stop as I saw and daydreamed it. I hope you laugh too!

And yes, there are a few more chapters to go, don't worry!

And yes, if you want to write, then write! Let your soul fly free and create! I would love to see your writing. You have such insight into mine, I bet your characters would be stunning. You have my encouragement if you ever decide to.

* * *

**Chapter 43: _Fresh Memories_**

Gawain picked up his bow and looked to the broken string. He cursed under his breath.

"It's just a string." Galahad said as they walked back towards the horses.

"If not for that string I could have gotten that damned turkey vulture."

Galahad clapped his brother on the back and moved ahead. The rest of the hunting party had already made it back to the horses. Cerys was pulling out some food from her horses packs, Tris­tan was sitting with his back to a tree, calmly slicing away at an apple.

Perceval waved as they came closer.

"Too bad about the string." He said amiably as they reached the group. "But we got him any­ways from out spot. Not a bad start to the day!"

Cerys smiled as she listened to the men banter. The weather had finally turned warmer and they had been able to get out for a hunt. She could see the tips of the brown frozen grass breaking through the snowdrifts in the edge of the forest, and the buds on the bramble bushes. The air was sweeter.

It always gave her energy, Spring. She settled her back down beside Tristan at the tree and opened her lunch. Tristan, seeing a fresh bit of bread, stole it from her as she looked away.

She had not been fast enough to slap his hand, and instead she had pulled one of his braids and called him a thief. He had smiled as he bit into the bread, and they had settled to happy silence, chewing and watching.

Now even more so was Spring causing her to jump about. She was to be married at the Spring Equinox, and that was in two weeks time! Guinevere and Lorina had been fussing over details since they had announced, and Cerys was ready to scream. She had not realized it would be such an affair, and she had lamented to Lancelot that she wished to run away to anywhere and marry in secret, and avoid this pomp completely.

He had laughed, kissed her and told her to enjoy it, for it would only ever happen once.

She was happy that he felt so confident in the proceedings, for all he had to do was show up.

She was excited, but was wishing she could make her own arrangements. Arthur had wanted a Christian ceremony; Guinevere was warring with him over it, saying that a druid should perform the rites. It did not help that Guinevere was fuelled by her hormones, and would send Arthur out into the hallways many an evening with her screams and flinging of books at the wall.

He would find his way to the common and spend time with the men. He was losing money at knucklebone on a regular basis now, but he seemed to not mind. It seemed that a winter contem­plating fatherhood had relaxed him.

Lancelot was in incredible humour, as he got to spend more time with his friend, and they en­joyed their evenings drinking and gambling together. Cerys was glad for her cousin and her love to be so happy, and she enjoyed watching them when she was with them. They were good friends, and this past winter had given them a chance to re-bond with one another.

Since becoming king, Arthur had really been quite busy.

Just that past evening, after Cerys had retired, she had opened the door first to hear, and then to see Lancelot and Arthur, arm in arm, completely sodden with drink. Lancelot was singing a song about a barmaid with blue eyes and other such attributes, Arthur was trying to keep up, catching every few words or so, raising his head to echo Lancelot, then letting it hang again. Unfortunately, the word he was choosing to catch more often than not was "breast". Their song echoed off the stone walls, and brought Perceval's head out of his own room.

They were staggering along the apartment's alleyway, stumbling against the wall, righting them­selves and continuing on. Cerys stood, her arms crossed, trying desperately, and failing miser­ably, not to laugh at the scene unfolding in front of her. Perceval saw her, winked, and walked out to join the two drunkards, swaggering like a conqueror with his arms out, his own voice join­ing the two staggering fools.

Lancelot had spotted her by this point and had veered himself and Arthur towards the door. Per­ceval met them there, and the three of them proceeded to sing the song loudly, Perceval on his knees, his arms outstretched towards Cerys, serenading "the lovely maiden with eyes and breast so fair".

She supposed it was fortunate that all Arthur could get out was "breast". He was, normally, a horrific singer.

Not that the other two were doing it any justice.

Arthur had spent the night on their floor by the hearth, snoring, Lancelot passed out on the bed beside her, his own snoring just as loud. She had buried her head in her furs and laughed herself to sleep.

Cerys, in the morning, had informed Guinevere of where he had spent the night, and recounted the tale. It had given them both a good giggle, and produced much teasing for a hung over Arthur when he made his way to his own rooms later on, holding his head with his hands.

Both Lancelot and Arthur had decided to forego hunting, and were nursing pounding heads and stomachs that would not accept food.

Cerys giggled to herself as she remembered the sight, and Tristan turned to her with a question­ing look.

"You are happy."

She nodded and patted his thigh. She was happy. She looked at Tristan. He looked different too.

"You are also."

He nodded, and put his last bite of bread down on the ground beside him.

Isaac made a noise, and hopped over from where he was sitting, pecking at the bread. Cerys made a twittering noise, and he hopped further over and pecked at the apple core she held out. He then hopped to her thigh, his talons digging into the leather, and made happy noises as he plucked what remained out of her hand.

"You will make my bird too fat to fly."

Cerys laughed, and Isaac made a noise to agree with her that it was indeed silly to think that he could get fat. The hawk stepped off her leg and settled on Tristan's leg, swivelling his head, standing sentry.

"Tell me why you are happy Tristan." Cerys said suddenly. She knew that she didn't want to prod him, but she felt he was relaxed, and would perhaps tell her. He took breath to speak but was interrupted by Gawain.

"Tristan is never happy." Gawain said as he settled down in front of them, crossing his legs and munching on some dried meat. He grimaced in jest to Tristan, who simply grunted and looked out past the man.

The moment lost, Cerys reached out and pulled one of Gawain's long blonde locks.

"Be careful or he will come and cut your hair in the night and then you really will look like a man."

Gawain swiped at her hand. Isaac, not enjoying the new sounds around him, flew up into the tree.

"Don't give him ideas."

Tristan rose from his seat, brushing crumbs off his tunic. He gave Cerys a wink and wandered over towards Sky. Gawain immediately took his place, an arm going around Cerys, and the silent eating began anew. Cerys leaned into her friends embrace, and watched a breeze fling the grey branches of an oak tree about. Soon, they would be able to hear the leaves rustle as the breeze blew through them.

She closed her eyes and relaxed in the warmth.

Soon she would be a wife.

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Tristan poked in his saddle bags.

Happy? He supposed so.

He could still feel Wynn's hand on his arm. He could still hear her laughter when he had swung her out into a dance in front of the fire. It was weeks ago, his last visit, and was still fresh in his memory. Every night he would think of her red hair, swinging, the firelight giving it such a glow.

He liked red hair, always had.

He thought then to the last time he had ridden in, after leaving the fort. He stilled beside Sky as his thoughts turned to that night.

He had stopped briefly by Hywel's shop and Hywel had sold him a bronze cloak pin. It had a stag on it. Hywel said that it was one of Lancelot's latest creations.

Lancelot could be such a woman with his romantic notions, but he admired the work. He was almost as good as Sabin had been.

Wynn would like it.

She had, in fact, loved it, and had flung her arms around his neck, laughing. She had made him pin it on her cloak then and there.

He remembered that his hands shook.

Later that night, he remembered lieing beside her in her hut, tracing a finger up her arm as she lay quietly beside him. She was watching him. She always watched him.

He loved that about her.

"Why did you bring me a gift Tristan?"

"I wanted to."

He wasn't sure why. He blamed Arthur for putting the thought in his head.

She accepted that answer was all he would give, and had reached out then, kissed him gently.

Tristan had gathered her into his arms and held her, his own heart racing. He was not quite sure what to do. He remembered that at that point, she had begun kissing his neck, and he lost all thought except the need that had risen in him.

He cleared his throat as he looked up from his horse. He should not be remembering such things now. He twittered to Isaac, and the bird flew down to perch on his saddle.

Spring meant change, he mused.

The rest of the party was checking tack and swinging into their saddles. He shook the thoughts of her away and mounted up.

"Shall we be away home?" Perceval asked, pulling Apollo up beside Sky.

"Yes. Storm coming in." Tristan pointed to the black clouds rolling in from the east.

They made their way through the field, and once out onto the road, galloped off, Tristan flinging Isaac into the sky as they began.

He felt the wind in his hair and he heard Cerys' happy laughter as she urged her mare up beside him. The small chestnut was drumming along, ears forward, happy for the outing. He flicked a glance on his other side, Galahad flying along on Terryn, his head held low to the horses mane.

"A race?" Galahad asked, as the horses had matched strides, the three abreast now.

Tristan cocked an eyebrow and turned to look behind him. Gawain and Perceval were just be­hind, languishing in the saddle as they galloped, looking about. He nodded his head back to them.

'They'll catch up." Galahad replied.

Tristan put boots to Sky, and off they shot. He knew that his horse could outpace Cerys' little mare, and he looked to make sure she could handle the sudden burst forward.

Cerys laughed and tucked in behind he and Galahad as the two of them matched their horses along the road.

It felt good to gallop. He focused forward and leaned in low over the saddle. He could feel Sky's mane brushing his face, could hear the pounding hooves, the rhythmic snorting. He could see the landscape fly by from the corner of his eye, a blur of brown, white and grey.

He loved flying like this. He could think of no other feeling that equalled it.

As he rounded a bend, he realized that, yes, he could.

Wynn made him feel this way.

With a shout so uncharacteristic of him, he smiled wide and urged Sky forward. Galahad grinned widely as well, the race now won, and pulled back to ride abreast with Cerys.

"He's happy." He said, as they watched the grey rump of Sky disappear up the road.

* * *

**Dear Reader:**

Ahh... back to gallops to bring the word into crystal clarity. Tristan just figured it out. he may have started before, realizing that he loved the woman, but... in a moment one can figure it out. He just realized he was in love, in his own way!

I hope you have enjoyed the different viewpoints I have started to wind in, with Tristan, Brinn, Arthur. I still want to focus on Cerys and Lancelot, but now that I know the others well enough, I thought it would be fun to branch out! Please do let me know if you find it a bit wierd or detracting from the story thus far. My next idea is to try Gawain, Galahad, Bors, the rest of them. Do you think it would be too many different thought-views?

Thank you for your patience as I waited a week to post! I appreciate your reviews and look forward to them with each chapter.

_Cardeia_


	44. Familiar Changes

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the character names, save my own original creations. I do not wish to be compensated for this work, nor do I wish to infringe on any copyrights held by any stakeholders of the movie King Arthur. This work is an original creation, based on the legend of King Arthur and his knights.

* * *

**Scribe Notes:**

_All:_ Here is a chapter (of two I am posting) that I just had to write. I hope that it works, it has some new points of view, some glimpses for you. There is an overall theme, and I start with Cerys, and end with Lancelot. but, it was begging to be written.I hope, as gwenn0 mentioned, that is does not make the story lose focus to have some new viewpoints. I posted two this evening, please do enjoy!

On to comments:

_et cetera et cetera:_ I have been riding my whole life, my first memory is bouncing along on a pony named Suzy. I hope you enjoy horseback riding! I love it so very much, and it was my first career before I hurt myself. I was training towards being a jockey! It was tough to leave the horses behind and go back to school. Let me know how it goes! And here are the different viewpoints for you to get a sense for our other characters.

I am glad that you find them real. I wanted to make them real. Arthur is now at a place where he is thinking of peace, building a better home for him and his family, and with a wee one on the way, it stands to reason he will relax a bit. I loved making him sing drunkely. You have to think, he would be like the knights in some way. He's not all Roman. I think he was, we just never got to see it in the movie. The men treated him as a friend when he walked into the bar, so I assume he did carouse with them from time to time based on their reaction to him.

_Sokorra Lewis:_ Tristan needed a physical event to tell him. What better way than out in his elements doing something that makes him feel good, to realize that something else can do the same? He would recognize a feeling first. Thinking is something he does, but he usually thinks on his feet, or while doing something like eating. Apples help him think in my story.

I almost have chapter one of the new story ready to post. I try not to have more than one creative piece going at once, but I wanted to get some on paper before the muse moved on.

_Calliann:_ I am glad you are happy! it stands to reason that if our Guin throws books when she is mad or missing her husband, she would again throw them while raging hormones! Poor books. I was at a used books store on the weekend and I spent a half hour perusing the medieval section. I found some lovely old Arthurian legend books, plus a second edition of Gawain and the Green Knight! Can't wait to muddle through the olde english poem.

I am thankful you liked him remembering. I wasn't sure if it worked or not.

_Ailis-70:_ That man is sexy when he smiles. That is yours and Calliann's fault for giving him such wonderful depth in your stories. He does deserve some happiness and he will get it. I promise soon.

Yes, the wedding. I can't wait to write that chapter! You know how they can spiral out of control. Well this is the social event of the spring at the fort, so it will be so much fun!

_Lady11Occult:_ There are quite a few people who have taken on the cause of the quiet scout. He is an interesting person to think about and flesh out in story. I do hope we get to see more of Mads in english speaking roles. I found him intriguing to say the least. Such poise and capability he brought into that role.

I will stay steadfast to my Lancelot, followed closely by Bors, then our dear Arthur with his amazing eyes.

_gwenn0:_ Here they are the different viewpoints! thank you for your confidence in my writing and I hope hope hope hope that it works! As I said, it was begging to be written and some of the parts were such fun. Yes, the drunken singing was a blast to write. I had a memory of some friends at a hotel doing just that to me one time. It still makes me laugh to this day, watching them singing and bouncing off walls, other people sticking their heads out of the doors to laugh. They were singing "Oh Carolina"... and not getting the words right. (laugh).

_LovelyHeidi:_ I am near Ottawa! I lived near Toronto in Oshawa for a little while, and was so glad to move back home here where my family is. Toronto is too big now. Fun to visit though! Fellow Canuckians unite!

I am glad I made you happy after an exam. Here are the next two chapters, one with some fun viewpoints from our other characters.

* * *

**Chapter 44: _Familiar Changes_**

Cerys dropped out of the saddle and groaned as Jols took her mare from her. She picked her packs off the back of her tack and stretched. She hadn't ridden much that winter and it was tell­ing on her muscles.

"Jols, wait, let me help you!"

Jols shook his head. "Lancelot asked me to tell you to meet him in the baths when you returned. He left for there not an hour ago with Arthur."

That man was reading her thoughts. A soak in the hot water would do her wonders. As she was leaving, Perceval swung and arm about her shoulders and they walked in step towards the apart­ments. He had a full brace of birds in his hand, which he would no doubt drop off at the kitchens.

"I dare say we have some lovely dinner awaiting us!" Perceval said as he hefted the birds.

Cerys giggled and nodded. "Nimli will make you pluck them, you know."

Perceval raised and eyebrow and gave her a saucy look. "Not if I don't pluck her first."

Cerys snorted and gave him a mock-resigned look.

"Changing affections from your 'lover' so soon Perceval? I thought I was the only one for you. You certainly convinced Octus of that with your act." She teased, her own eyebrow lifted.

He laughed and squeezed her shoulders to him, and then ducked away from her towards the kitchens as she swatted at him with her packs.

"Never had a chance with you Cerys. Your heart belonged to Lancelot long ago."

She stopped and smiled, and he too stopped and turned. He stuck his tongue out, then pretended to curtsey.

"Begone with you to flirt with the women, Perceval." She yelled happily after him as he saun­tered towards the open doorway, light pouring from the lanterns lit inside. She could hear the women all greet him as he ducked in the doorway, and then a shriek, as, she suspected, he pinched a bottom or snuck in a kiss.

Such a flirt. But... such a good man, she thought.

Cerys, once in her room, stepped out of her riding clothes into a regular dress again, and gath­ered up her cloak. She grabbed a travelling lantern and headed for the baths, humming softly, her step light.

How her life had changed! She wouldn't have wanted it any other way.

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Gawain returned from taking care of Demetia, and stepped into the darkened room that he shared with Galahad. Galahad was delivering the hares they had snared on their hunt, and he had beaten his brother back.

He sighed as he hefted off his riding boots, hearing the hobnails plop to the floor in front of him. It had been a long day and he was tired. Winter made him soft. He almost looked forward to the rejuvenation of their little runs out to smack at Saxons.

Almost...

He ran a hand down his face. Truthfully he was growing tired of this constant nagging from the hordes. He wanted to stop the killing, he wanted to just live in peace.

But peace bred restlessness.

Gawain tried to remember who had told him that as he undid the laces on his archery gloves. He remembered, and he sagged. Of course it had to be. This time of year always brought those memories back harshly.

A lock of hair fell into his face and he swore and pushed it out of the way. Maybe Tristan should sneak in and cut it all off. But, he hadn't cut it since...

He refused to think about that anymore, and slammed his mind down on it.

He peered around in the darkness of their rooms. Dory's influence on their quarters was begin­ning to show. Galahad was letting her put up wall hangings to keep the draft out, and he noticed a new pottery vase on the windowsill, with patterns carved into it.

Gawain hated change. It was hard enough seeing his brother so happily in love, let alone fix up their rooms.

He would have to find somewhere new to lay his head. He couldn't keep borrowing other men's rooms when they slept in their own lover's beds. It would have been easier before...

Again he slammed his mind. Stop! It had to stop! He must control himself.

He squinted as he caught sight of his mace and axe, sitting in the corner. A sword propped there too. For some reason, he got up and walked over, picking up the blade in its scabbard and draw­ing it out slightly.

He stopped. Why was he torturing himself?

He didn't carry this sword anymore. He couldn't. It hadn't been his to begin with.

He ran his hand down the hilt, feeling the leather. It was getting dry; he would have to oil it again.

Gareth would have been mad to see that.

Gawain growled to himself, threw the sword down onto the ground and turned. He sank to his bed, his head in his hands, his eyes pinched shut to stop from sobbing, to halt the images. His shoulders bulged with the effort, and he groaned quietly.

He did not cry. He wouldn't let himself.

It was getting harder to remember what he looked like when he was alive. It was getting harder to hear his voice when he thought about him. It was getting harder not to remember the dreams, and the memories he drowned away every night.

He needed a drink, badly. But first, he needed a bath.

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Galahad left the kitchens, Perceval keeping court quite easily without him, and headed for the common to find Dory.

He had missed her today, and he wanted to tell her about how well their hunt had gone. Perceval had promised to meet up at the baths later, most likely with a girl or two in tow, so he had a few moments to spare to find her.

He would have to ask Cerys to borrow her chestnut mare and take Dory out for a ride soon. He wondered if Dory could ride. No matter, he could teach her! He could do anything if she was with him.

How his thoughts of her had changed recently! He was thinking more about family, about spending every night with her. He liked having her with him, liked what she had done to their rooms. It felt so much warmer there now.

He saw her before she saw him. She was sweeping up, some straw had blown in from the sta­bles. Her willowy frame swaying in time with the broom, swishing her skirts as she walked be­hind the pile she was moving ever forward towards the entryway to the common.

His hands fidgeted as he lengthened his stride to get to her sooner. She looked up just as he reached her, and he threw his arms about her, lifting her and spinning.

The broom handle clattered as it hit the stone.

"Galahad..." She said quietly as he set her down again and kissed her cheek. She was smiling.

He grinned widely, and pulled her by the hand towards a bench. He sat and opened his arms; she gladly sat across his lap and laid her head on his shoulder.

"I got three pheasant, a hare and a wild turkey today." he said proudly as he combed through her long dark hair. She smiled and kissed his nose shyly. He wrinkled it and touched the tip of his finger to hers, making her wrinkle her own.

It was their routine.

"When is dinner then?" She asked, pulling softly at his beard.

He laughed and stood, setting her to her feet as he did so. She could make him laugh so easily! She didn't even have to try.

"As soon as the women in the kitchens cook it! But first, I need to get out of these dusty clothes, and perhaps have a bath. Would you join me?"

She could only nod as he dragged her away towards their rooms, his curls bouncing, her step quick to keep up to him.

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Bors was gathering up a heavy leather cloak from the doorway.

"Lorina, where is my bloody cloak pin?" He yelled, noticing that the leather showed a gaping hole where the pin once was.

"I don't know, where did you last put it?" She said from an adjacent room.

Two children screamed as they ran by, chasing one another. Another was pulling the stuffing out of a cushion by the fire.

Thank the Gods he had gotten Hywel to build them a grate with a lock. Otherwise they would be burning by now.

"I don't bloody know where I put it except on the bloody cloak." He yelled louder over the din.

"Then it's bloody well somewhere!"

Bors growled in frustration. Another child darted out under his legs, a handful of straw in her hand, throwing it to the air as the one pulling the stuffing out of the cushion laughed and joined her. He looked across the large table where cups, corn husk dolls and various unfinished plates of food sat ignored. One of the younger girls sat quietly at one end, playing with one of the dolls. She was singing to herself and making the doll walk along the edge of the table, her face happy and innocent.

Bors saw the elusive pin sticking out of the dolls head at a garish angle. He ran a hand over his face and decided to ignore it.

Lorina came out of the room she was in, her own hair a mess around her head, her face weary. Two other children began fighting in the next room, the baby crying from its small cradle.

"Shut it or else I will..." She screamed. There was silence for two moments, then the screaming erupted again. The baby quieted from her outburst, and she put a hand down to let small fingers play with hers.

She looked at her husband. He looked at her.

He mouthed "out" and pointed to the door. She nodded tiredly.

"Gillie!" He bellowed.

Gillie stuck his head out of a curtained off area, a needle in his hand, the other holding a tunic.

"Your mother and I are leaving. See that the rooms are still standing when we return?" He said, sweeping a hand over the menagerie. "Change the baby if his swaddling needs it."

Gillie nodded, and sighed. "Yes father."

Once outside the rooms, Lorina sagged into her husband's open arms.

"They are our family, lover, but sometimes I could throttle the lot of them."

Bors made a noise in his throat as he nodded, his chin on her head. "I know. Things may change soon, Gillie is starting to act more like a man every day, we aren't going to be able to keep him at home for much longer."

"He will want to join Brinn in the spring recruit."

They stood, just enjoying the silence for a moment, staring up at the darkening sky. A crash from behind the door, then a wail, broke their quiet and they looked at each other again. Bors raised an eyebrow.

"Where would my Lorina like to go this evening?" He asked, kissing her cheek as he led her away from the rooms.

"I would most dearly love a bath."

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Tristan walked into the baths, and saw Lancelot and Cerys at the far back corner, deep into a kiss. They were alone up until that point, and he was sure had he come in a moment later, he would have interrupted something much more than that.

He cleared his throat.

He heard the splash as Cerys, startled, pushed back from Lancelot. He felt Lancelot's annoyed gaze fall to him, and he looked up.

No, not completely annoyed. He was smirking.

"Tristan! Come to join us?" Cerys said as she waded up to tweak at his now bare toes. he looked down to her. The torches were playing off the water, and he could see love bites all along her shoulders just under the surface. He wiggled his toes. She laughed and splashed water at his feet, earning her a smile from him.

"Yes. Room in there with his ego floating about?" He pointed at Lancelot. "He thinks he's a singer now."

Cerys groaned and rolled her eyes. "Arthur was worse."

She splashed her way back to Lancelot and settled once more to his side as he finished undress­ing and slipped in.

He relaxed as the warm water lapped at his chest. He ran his hands over the surface, sending ripples out from his hands. He thought of Wynn almost involuntarily. She had never seen a Ro­man bath.

He was going to bring her here first, he decided. She would look so very good with her red hair wet and fanning out into the water.

He felt the ripples as Arthur plunked down in beside him, the smell of fresh soap on him. He sighed as he settled into the water. He must have gotten a shave.

"Tristan." He said as he waded over to one of the submerged stone benches.

"Arthur." Tristan replied, following him. He settled beside him.

He had to ask, and it was now or never.

"Permission to ride out tomorrow." He said quietly.

"Granted. Gone long?" Arthur asked, his head rested back against the side of the baths, one eye open and towards the scout. Tristan felt that Arthur was amused by the charade.

Fine, let him be honest.

"I want to bring her back with me."

Arthur raised his head a bit, and opened the other eye. He and Tristan calmly regarded each oth­er for a moment. Tristan flicked a strand of hair out of his eyes, and blinked at the steam coming off the water. For a moment, the trickling of the water, Lancelot's quietly rumbling voice with Cerys' giggling were the only sounds in the chamber.

"About time." Arthur finally said, almost to himself.

Tristan blinked. It still bothered him that he had he not known that Arthur knew about her. It didn't matter now; she was going to part of his life here as well as there, soon.

Arthur closed his eyes again. He sighed and brought a hand out of the water and over his face.

"We could use a midwife for all the babies I see in the future here." He said with a small smile. He settled back at that point and sighed again, relaxing completely. "She can help Dafydd."

Tristan smiled at that and dunked his head under the water, their conversation concluded.

He had made his decision. Spring certainly did mean change. Especially this year.

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Lancelot splashed water lazily up over Cerys' shoulder, and watched it trickle down over her skin. She was sitting, her head on his shoulder, her eyes closed, relaxed in the water.

If only Tristan had not come in, they could have...

He smiled. There would be a lifetime for that. He shifted a bit and she opened her eyes.

"Do you want me to move?"

"No, stay love, you are perfect there."

She closed her eyes again and sighed, settling in deeper to him, legs up over his lap under the water. He kissed the top of her head.

Laughter made all in the baths look up, and Galahad and Dory came in through the doorway, hand in hand. Dory stopped as she saw other people in the water and looked to him.

"It's alright Dory. These people have shared the baths with me on many an occasion. There is no shame in it."

Dory swallowed and darted her eyes nervously about. Lancelot felt Cerys leave his side again as she waded over to the side of the water.

"Dory, if you like, you can borrow my underdress there on the hook, I am fine without it. You will need yours dry for later." She pointed, and Lancelot could see Dory immediately relax.

So like her to understand. He was very proud to call her his. Galahad nodded his thanks, and then nodded again as he made eye contact with Lancelot. Lancelot nodded back once.

Yes, he was lucky, and he ran a hand through his hair and his familiar sideways grin developed as he watched his lover wade through the water to the edge. Her hair was wet and sticking to her back, and the edges fanning out under the water as she walked. He grinned further as he counted the love bites on her shoulders.

Soon he would be able to call her wife.

Galahad stripped right then, leaving his clothing in a pile, splashing in. Cerys laughed and beat water towards him with her hands, he doing the same to her. They engaged in the war for a few moments, then Galahad put a hand to the top of her head and dunked her.

Galahad was momentarily distracted by Dory coming back out from behind a curtain with Cerys' much shorter underdress on, baring her legs. As everyone watched, Cerys pulled his legs out from under him, while herself still under the water, and he let out a yelp, splashing down, sending a wave of water across to everyone, splashing it up over the edge to the stone floor.

"Children." Arthur admonished, laughing at the spluttering Galahad, pushing hair out of his eyes. Galahad gave Cerys a dirty look and helped Dory into the water.

Cerys rejoined Lancelot and smiled sweetly to him. He laughed and tweaked her nose.

"Remind me never to dunk you." He murmured in her ear as she repositioned herself across his lap.

"Remind me to make you forget sometime." She replied saucily.

Soon Bors and Lorina joined them, and Gawain, who came in silently and sat on his own, his head leaned back in the water, his eyes closed, long blonde hair floating out around his head. Lancelot noticed he looked pre-occupied, and had deep worry lines etched into his face, despite the relaxing heat of the water. It was getting close to the time of year when he would be worst.

They had found Gareth around now, he reflected.

He raised an eyebrow to Galahad and tilted his head towards his brother. Galahad shrugged, turning his attention back to Dory.

Galahad was perhaps getting tired of propping his brother up all the time. And he really couldn't blame the younger man. Lancelot decided that perhaps prodding Gawain right then would do no good and he stopped himself from moving over to speak with him. Maybe over a game later, he could get it out of him.

Light conversation bubbled around the group. Guinevere had joined them at some point, and she, Lorina and Cerys had pulled Dory away to chat in one corner. Girl talk, most likely, about weddings and babies. They were giggling, Guinevere was combing out Cerys' hair with her fin­gers, Lorina combing Guinevere's. Dory was the quietest, he thought. She was very pretty with her freckles and willowy frame. He noticed that Lorina always brought her into any con­versation, and the girl was beginning to smile and speak up.

They would all get along well in the years to come. He could almost see the four of them with babies on hip, standing about and gossiping. Lorina would swat him if he even mentioned her having another baby. They already had too many. Bors was insatiable! He chuckled to himself.

Babies. He wondered what Cerys would look like with one on her hip.

Perceval had joined them, with, of all people, Nimli in tow, and Nimli had waded over towards the women while Perceval joined Lancelot on the far wall. Jols had wandered in not long after and had taken up beside Galahad and Arthur, and they were talking about horses. Perceval gave Lancelot a wicked grin.

"Nimli?"

Perceval winked. "She's a right pretty girl, eh?"

"Ganis may have word with you on that one." Lancelot warned. He had thought the two of them a couple. Cerys would know, he would have to ask her later. If so, Perceval was in for it. Ganis, despite his lean frame, could be quite effective in a fist fight. He was a scrapper, had been since they had found him at Mariuses estate.

It was a full house tonight, he realized, looking about the crowd now gathered in the water. Steam was rising up, and the chamber was slowly heating with the extra bodies. Condensation dripped off the walls, and off the ceiling into the water, adding to the other happy noises.

Lancelot mused over it. It felt nice to have everyone there, and he thought that this may be the first time they had ever been in the baths together in years. He liked this, and as he watched his lover tilt her head back and laugh at something Nimli had said, he felt his heart swell.

There was more to it than just her, this full feeling. He floated his eyes over the gathering. Arthur and Galahad and Jols, then Tristan, who had taken up a seat beside Gawain, both of them quiet. Bors sitting and humming, enjoying a moment away from the children, his hands playing through the water.

In a few weeks they would be adding back into this inner circle of knights. He was going to sponsor Brinn, and Bors had mentioned that Gillie was ready. There were a few other young boys ready as well, and Hector had asked Arthur if he could stay on, which he had, now that Octus had left. Hector would need a sword; Octus had taken his back with him.

He liked Hector, despite his lecherous father. He would make a good man at arms, perhaps even a knight if he proved himself. He deserved a good sword. Arthur would see to it, of course.

He heard Perceval wade off as he closed his eyes, resting his head on the edge behind him. No doubt to harass the women and flirt endlessly with them. The knight reminded him so much of himself when he was younger that it made him snort under his breath.

How familiar things could change so quickly, and yet still feel just the same as they always did!

Lancelot ran his hands up through the water, then ran wet hands over his hair, smoothing it back again. He raked his hands back down over his face. Yes, this was the most enjoyable way to spend an evening.

He heard Cerys' tinkling laughter again over the hum of conversation and the sounds of the wa­ter, and he smiled. No matter how it changed, right then, he was as content as he had ever been in his life.

This was his family.

* * *

**Dear Reader:**

This was a long chapter, and one I really enjoyed writing. The idea of them all needing or wanting a bath for different reasons, then all coming together to be a family in the best sense made me sing happily. It was fun to picture them all together, happily talking in the water, the flow of conversation and the trickle of water being such a soothing sound.

So, did it work? Did I capture Galahad's enthusiasm, Bors and Lorina having a "Parental Leave" moment, Gawain's anguish as he begins to break, and Tristan's calm acceptance of his decision to bring Wynn home? I hope so. And I wanted Lancelot's random thoughts and his settling into the idea of marriage, family and home.

Onward to the next chapter! Thanks very much for your encouragement to try this out. I appreciate all your words and comments very much.

_Cardeia_


	45. Tempered Pain

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the character names, save my own original creations. I do not wish to be compensated for this work, nor do I wish to infringe on any copyrights held by any stakeholders of the movie King Arthur. This work is an original creation, based on the legend of King Arthur and his knights.

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**Chapter 45: _Tempered Pain_**

Cerys picked at her venison on a plate between her and Lancelot. She wasn't very hungry. She sighed and rubbed her eyes and pushed the plate away. The past few days she had not been over­ly interested in food. Perhaps she was just bored with winter rations and longed for some fresh vegetables and fruits, even fresh olives if they could get any from the port!

Her thoughts turned to spring planting and all that she would need to make ready. She would want more leeks this year, perhaps a few more turnips? Turnips preserved well.

Why was she thinking of turnips? She had a wedding to keep her occupied! She laughed to her­self as she realized that although she was this new woman, old habits did die hard. She still had a fort to run, and her mind would never let her forget it.

"No appetite?"

Cerys lifted her head to regard Guinevere, patting her small round belly. She was just beginning to show. After so long, it was good that she was so proud of herself! She should be.

"Not really. Perhaps I am just tired."

Guinevere nodded and tweaked Lancelot's hair, causing him to turn around. Cerys noted he had been deep in thought since their late afternoon at the baths and she hadn't asked him about it yet.

"What?" He asked, amused.

"You look perplexed Lancelot, lose your singing partner?" Guinevere teased, picking at the food Cerys had pushed away.

Lancelot chuckled and then grimaced in jest, throwing his hands to the air.

"No one appreciates my efforts."

Cerys smiled as they bantered back and forth. She watched people come and go in the com­mon, men gambling, drinking, women on their laps, and an air of happiness. A warm breeze blew through the fort this evening and it was easing the long winter nerves that developed from being cooped inside. The breeze tossed sparks from the brazier in the air, sending them wafting out over the crowd, the flames suddenly bursting upward with the new influx of air. She let it hypnotize her, tuning out her friends jesting. It was so beautiful, and she put her chin in her hand to watch it.

"I am not a goat." Lancelot lamented at Guinevere's reminder of his night in the straw, his eyes sparkling with mirth "One night falling asleep in the straw and everyone assumes the worst!"

Cerys made an attempt to stop her laughter as she caught the tail end of the conversation, and eventually all three laughed at his last comment.

Guinevere and Cerys talked a few moments more, then Guinevere saw her husband and moved off to join him. As soon as she was gone, Lancelot looked to Cerys. He put an arm about her and pouted.

"You would not laugh at me being stuck in a straw pile with a goat would you?"

Cerys thought a moment. "Yes, my lover, I would. It was very funny, and you know it."

He growled then, pulling her up to him and play biting her neck, making her giggle. His teeth found her shoulder and he nipped. She put her arms to him and then their lips found one another.

"You even nip like a goat." She teased, and he made a noise to protest the joke.

A cup thwacked down on the table in front of them, startling them both.

"Get a room." The flat voice attached to the hand that put the cup down said.

Cerys looked up and into Gawain's eyes. He looked troubled. He had looked troubled in the baths, but she had not wanted to disturb his peace. He had seemed quieter all day, even when out hunting. She tilted her head to him. They had invited him for a throwing contest earlier; Cerys thinking it may clear his head and bring his smile out. Lancelot had agreed.

"Gawain, are you well?"

Gawain sat and then drained his cup. He hiccupped and looked between Cerys and Lancelot. Cerys reached out a hand to him. He ignored it. She wondered at this man. He felt so deeply, and his nightmares had been constant since mid winter. He had not even brought his throwing knives. Had he forgotten?

"Gawain, man, what is eating at you?" Lancelot asked, his own face showing a perplexed look, trying to understand the man. Cerys wondered if she should leave them to talk alone, and went to rise, but Lancelot tightened his grasp around her waist, silently telling her to wait.

Gawain looked to the bottom of his cup and then away over Lancelot's shoulder.

"It is nothing, just restless."

"Horse manure." Lancelot spat back.

Gawain looked to Lancelot, slightly annoyed. He fiddled with his empty cup. Lancelot took the cup out of his hand and set it down. Gawain picked it up and went to rise.

"Need s'more."

"No, you don't." Lancelot said, quietly, picking the cup out of his hands again. "You're in no shape to be drunk."

"Piss off Lancelot." Gawain growled, rising and swiping the cup, knocking it clear of Lancelot's hands. It bounced loudly to the floor, and the common went quiet as they attracted the attention of other people near them.

Lancelot had risen with him, going nose to nose with the knight, his fists pressed down to the table. Cerys watched, a bit worried now, and edged down the bench to be out of the way.

They glared at each other silently, their poses mirrored over the table, arm muscles bunched, jaws clenched. One dark, one blonde. Cerys swallowed. She did not want a fight. She looked between the two of them, trying to figure out if she should say anything. She wanted to scream stop! Lancelot interrupted her thoughts by speaking.

"Stop being so bloody moody and tell us what is wrong." He said quietly between teeth, flicking a glance around him. "We'll go for a walk."

"It's none of your business." Gawain said, hotly.

"Gareth isn't my business?"

Gawain roared and flipped the table in front of Lancelot, sending the man backwards onto the floor, skidding backwards from the force. Cerys screamed. Plate and cups flew off, landing with a clatter, food spraying across stone.

Cerys was pulled out of the way by Galahad before she was hit by a table leg. She landed in a heap in his arms, and he hefted her back to her feet. She immediately went to run for Lancelot, but Galahad held her fast.

"No. You'll end up in the way and hurt."

One plate rolled on its edge, the sound slowing as it settled, the entire common silent except for that noise. Someone coughed.

Cerys watched, helpless, as Gawain stalked up to Lancelot, who was picking himself up, dust­ing off his clothing, glaring.

"You have no right." He seethed as he pushed Lancelot in the chest. Lancelot pushed back.

"No right? He was my blood cousin. You think I do not grieve?" Lancelot yelled, his eyes flash­ing anger now.

Gawain took a swing at Lancelot, who ducked. They pushed at each other a moment. Cerys pulled at Galahads arm hold. He held her tighter.

"Let them Cerys." He said quietly in her ear.

"Why is he like this?" She whispered. "This isn't the Gawain I know."

"Gareth went out in late fall, and they found him in the Spring, don't you remember?"

Cerys nodded, remembering. His green scale armour shining in the late autumn sun, her laugh­ing as he hugged her, then mounting his horse. He was always so grandiose in his actions, his dark eyes never showing any fear.

"Do not fret, my fair maiden, I shall return triumphant!" He had said as he swung his gloved hand in the air, gesturing grandly.

Gawain had laughed and wiggled his eyebrows at her as they rode out. The two of them always rode out scouting together.

Gareth never came back.

Now she understood.

Lancelot was attempting to calm Gawain down, who was having none of it. They circled one another. Gawain lashing out, Lancelot ducking, trying to grasp his arms to settle him.

"I have no wish to fight you Gawain." He said as he stepped out of the way of another punch.

Gawain grunted, his eyes blazing and he stepped forward again. "He was my friend. He was my responsibility." He shouted.

The rest of the knights were standing, Arthur was pushing his way through the throng to get to the circling men.

"Enough!" he bellowed as he reached the two warring men.

Gawain turned his head towards his commander. "None of your business Arthur."

"You are my knights, and I am your commander. Now I say enough!" He said, turning his glare between the two men.

"Arthur..." Lancelot began. Arthur held up a hand.

Gawain lunged forward then, Lancelot stepping out of the way. Arthur put an arm across his chest and levered him back. He went nose to nose with the blonde man, forcing Gawain to look him in the eye.

"Stop." He said. "You do no good fighting it this way."

Cerys watched Gawain sag then, the energy and anger leaving him. Her heart went out to him. He was in such pain. Why? What had happened all those years ago to make him dream such horrible things since? She looked back at Galahad out of the corner of her eye. He was still hold­ing her tightly, even though she wasn't trying to run to Lancelot anymore. She brought a hand to his, on her shoulder.

"I'm sorry Galahad. You should go to him."

"And do what, exactly? I have tried talking, I have tried fighting. I have tried drugging. Nothing works, nothing helps."

She could hear the resignation in his voice.

She patted his hand as Dory came up beside them. She looked to Galahad, then to Cerys. Cerys pulled herself from Galahad's grasp as he relaxed.

"He needs you." She whispered to the girl as she walked out towards the trio of men.

Gawain turned as she drew close. She could see tears in his eyes, the pain now at the surface. She reached out a hand to him and he brushed it aside as he stalked away, out of the common. She felt a hand on her shoulder as she turned to watch him.

"Are you alright?"

She nodded. Arthur sighed and slipped his arm around her shoulders.

"I don't know what to do."

Cerys reached out a hand to Lancelot and nodded. He took it and pulled her away from Arthur into his arms. She could feel his heart racing, and his muscles shaking. He was still angry, she could feel it, but he was also feeling as helpless as any of them right then.

"None of us do either, cousin. None of us do."

* * *

**Dear Reader:**

And Gawain breaks.

Galahad is getting frustrated, and perhaps a bit discouraged that his brother, despite what he does to help, is getting worse. It can be hard for anyone to handle that. And now that Galahad is happy, and a future with Dory on his mind, he would dearly love for Gawain to buck up and be happy too. Happiness is infectious! But so is sadness. Gawain is unable to beat back this demon, and it is rearing its head.

Gawain loved Gareth, he was the knights best friend, as Arthur is to Lancelot. The pain at losing him has festered for so long now, it is time for the wound to open.

I leave you with awish.

May your meet your own demons head on, with chin raised and eye bright, capable of bringing them down and defeating them with hypothetical sword in hand.

May happiness then infect you, and your own lives ring with the laughter now shared at its coming.

_Cardeia_


	46. Needing

**WARNING! **

**This chapter also contains sexual themes and situations. This story is rated M, which means that anyone 16+ (mature teen and adult) can read this with no worries. Please do not read further if you do not wish to read content concerning consentual sexual relations. **

**I have attempted to be as soft as possible in my language and have tried not to be explicit.

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**

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the character names, save my own original creations. I do not wish to be compensated for this work, nor do I wish to infringe on any copyrights held by any stakeholders of the movie King Arthur. This work is an original creation, based on the legend of King Arthur and his knights.

* * *

**Scribe Notes:**

_Sokorra Lewis:_ You can do it! Writers block sucks. As I have offered to others, send me an email and I can send you ideas to get past it. I know you will do fine. Try re-reading Golden Circle from start to finish and then I bet your ideas will flow! Thanks for the encouragement! Almost ready to post. Got some stuff up on Fictionpress, its a huge forum!

_Lady11Occult:_ Gareth meant the world to Gawain. We all have that one friend we could never leave, never reconcile our lives without. Tristan will be with Wynn soon, I promise!

_Babaksmiles:_ Hey thanks for the encouragement. Yes, someday I know it will happen. I'm almost 30, looking towards the next phase of life and going "Ok, I'm ready... come get me!" and... ech... I'm horrible at waiting.

Gawain needs to heal himself before he could love. I haven't quite figured out his resolution yet, its still in the working phases. It will be nice to have him happy and his usual belligerent self again.

And no, not going to spoil it if she is. You'll have to wait and see! (grin)

_Calliann:_ I am so glad you liked chapter 44! It was a bit different to write. But I laughed so hard while writing Bors and Lorina. It was hilarious to imagine the sweet wee girl playing with her doll, the cloak pin jutting out... the chaos! I hope I captured Galahad's youth well, his exuberance for his new feelings, experiencing them with a young eye and heart. Despite his experiences killing and seeing death, he really does come across as more innocent, or perhaps niaeve.

And I could see Lancelot's molten anger as they stared off each other. That was a really great chapter to write it was so clear in my head. I am glad it worked for you. Here are two more!

_et cetera et cetera:_ Thank you! I feel that my dialogue has come a long way with writing this story. It has really helped me to put some polish back on the ole writin' muscle. But, you have made me happy knowing that I can capture their emotions without having to "voice" them.

I read somewhere that most baths in Roman times were shared by men and women alike, and nakedness was never really a factor in it. So I piled them all in as if that was normal. It was fun to think of a modern scene witha hot tub or a sauna. The only one who would be nervous was Dory, because she is so shy.

I find writing about a large family interesting, since I am an only child! I have a very small family and its a new perspective that I have rolled about. I am glad that it worked despite my lack of experience with brothers, sisters. I think it may also stem from my involvement in my paintball teams. Nothing like spending a week in a rented villa in Florida with your 20 closest friends to learn about the chaos and closeness that people you care aboutbring when you are together. (grin)

_Ailis-70:_ Well, here are some chapters to stop the buzzing, or... well maybe add to it, I don't know (wink).

I lost a close friend in high school to a drunk driver. It was the hardest thing my young mind had ever comprehended and it was hell. I am trying to show Gawain's torment the way it felt the day they buried her. Thanks for your words about Gawain.I am sorry about your friend. Crying is good! I cry once a week at least. Usually after a sappy movie or commercial. My boyfriend thinks its silly, but he's a man, they don't understand (wink).

Tristan is so funny. I think on how we write him being so calm sometimes and you know inside that easy observant stare is a man who's mind is going a mile a minute! His anger and his agression he only lets out when he knows he can control is, which in my story, is on the battlefield. he's much more independant than the others, who are more open in their anger and agression.

Wynn will be a novelty! I am looking forward to writing her in the fort. Tristan is going to be so protective of her! Arthur will probably be giddy knowing that now there will be one more woman around to keep his wife in gossip. This young princeling (or princess) will be a handful, she will be needed!

Thanks for your reviews. I always enjoy them, and love that my story helps you.

_gwenn0:_ Ah! I understand now about your POV ideas. I re-read chapter 40 and I didn't mix enough of his thoughts about Cerys in there. I got into his head too much, but it was fun to play with him. Tristan is an interesting one for sure.

And don't feel insecure. Your english is great!

Chapter 44 was meant as that, pieces coming together! You got it! You give me encouragement with your reviews and you make me think and improve my writing!

_lilstrummrgrl527:_ Hippie-lion! How perfect to describe him! Chapter 45 was really good to write for me, and I enjoyed it despite it's sad tone. I am glad you liked chapter 44, it was really fun to write as well, but from a light perspective.

I promise your hippie-lion won't be broken forever.

Here are two more chapters for you! Enjoy!

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**Chapter 46: _Needing_**

Lancelot shook with the anger. She could have been hurt, and that was what made him madder than Gawain losing his temper. He hitched his breath thinking she could have been hit by the table and...

He forced calm. It would do no good to rail off on the man for that, along with everything else.

It had to happen sooner or later, and he supposed this was the time of year it would hurt the most.

It had been years since Gareth died. Lancelot had grieved for his cousin, but he had resolved it and moved on. He knew Gawain felt the guilt of not being able to protect the knight, and he knew that not being able to find him for so long tore at his heart. They had been close, the two men, fighting and riding side by side. The only one closer to Gawain was his brother Galahad.

But it was years ago.

Gawain had never spoken about the attack and the week or so that he had been in the woods, he and his horse lost, his wounds festering. Bors and Perceval had finally found him, leaning over his horses neck, Demetia plodding home the only way she knew how to go, up the main road. It was a cold day. He remembered that the cold was the only thing that saved the man; his fever was so strong at that point.

Lancelot closed his eyes momentarily to stop the image that was forming in his head, of Gareth, strung up and pecked clean by crows and various other animals when they found his body near a Saxon outpost that next spring. All that had remained was his green armour. It was the only way they identified him.

Gawain had cut him down. The nightmares had started after that, random and infrequent at first.

Now, they were every night.

Lancelot held Cerys a moment more. He felt such remorse for having her needlessly brought into this. She would want to help; his companions were as much her family as his, but...

"Lancelot?" her voice brought him out of his thoughts.

"You are not hurt?" He asked, loosening his grasp and looking down at her. She shook her head.

He breathed out loudly.

"I am sorry you were scared."

"It is fine. I am more worried about Gawain."

The noise had returned to the common, but the knights were silent, still standing, all thinking. Galahad was rubbing his forehead and talking quietly with Dory, her hand on his chest, patting absently while she looked about to the other men.

Lancelot let her go and he and Perceval righted the table. Bors gathered up the plate and cups and set them to the bar, where Lorina grasped his hand, her own eyes worried.

Arthur strode out of the common, Guinevere following him, her steps quick. Lancelot watched him go. He would check the stables first, then the walls. Gawain was not likely to go to his rooms. Perhaps the armoury. That could be dangerous.

"Arthur, wait." Lancelot strode after him, leaving Cerys for a moment. "Let us help you look for him."

Arthur shook his head.

"I am merely going to tell the guards not to open the gates for him." He said tiredly. "There is nothing more we can do until he calms, but we do not need him galloping off in the night."

Lancelot knew that, as usual, Arthur's level head had won. Lancelot had been ready to run off and shake the fool man, to reason with him, but, Arthur was right. There was no more they could do tonight.

Lancelot stopped and let Arthur continue on, Guinevere catching up to her husband and lacing her fingers through his as they walked. She looked back to Lancelot and nodded silently.

She would take care of him. Lancelot knew how much he would shoulder the guilt of Gawain's torment.

Cerys reached his side as he ran a hand through his hair and grimaced in the darkness. He want­ed to swear, and he clenched his jaws to will his temper down. So many bad memories now at the surface.

"Love, come, let's go to bed." She said, touching his arm. Lancelot felt a wave of tiredness wash over him. Bed. With her in his arms. He needed that.

He turned and pulled her to him again, his lips on the top of her head. He held her close, feeling her comforting warmth. So much pain and death they had all seen. Things such as this always brought that to the front of his thoughts. He had always driven them back with work in the ar­moury, or time with Hywel in the blacksmith shop hammering on bronze until the sweat would sting his eyes and his muscles ached. Drinking and women, any woman... He never even knew some of their names.

Now? Now he wanted nothing more than her.

"I..." He started. he wanted to tell her that he needed her this night. He wanted to just hold her like this and not move. He needed comfort from her. If he moved it would break the closeness he felt, and the stability he craved right then. He wanted to tell her he was sorry for all the years of death, and pain, and loss.

But was he apologizing to himself, or her? He wasn't sure yet.

"What?" She muffled into his chest.

"I am sorry for all the loss we have suffered."

She loosed her arms from him, breaking the closeness. He felt her reach a hand down and pull his up to her lips. She held it there, her eyes to him.

"I am too." She said quietly. "But it is not your causing. Your pain is just as strong as his, but you can see past it now, no?"

He relaxed then. She understood him so well. He put an arm around her and they made their way to their rooms.

With her at his side, yes, he could.

Once in their rooms, he sighed heavily and sat on the edge of the bed. Cerys was re-lighting the fire, and she took off her light day cloak and hung it by the door. She crawled up to straddle his lap, rubbing his shoulders. He patted her hand absently as he leaned past her to pry off his soft boots.

"I just wish he would come out with it. I think if he talked it would help." She said.

"Talking may not do him any good Cerys. He may just need to fight himself out of it."

"Fight?"

Cerys thought a moment on that. Lancelot watched her. She bit her lip. More fighting to solve a problem that started in violence? She wasn't sure. Perhaps she did not always understand the ways of these men. It seemed a bit like trying to put out a fire by throwing more wood on it, in­stead of water. She furrowed her brow.

"Let's not think about it shall we?" He said as he wrapped his arms about her and buried his head in her chest. She put her hands to his head and held him for a moment, and they slowly lowered to the bed. They curled up facing one another, their eyes locked on each others then, forehead to forehead.

"I hope that you are never so tortured, Love." She whispered. She would not be able to bear it if he broke as Gawain had.

"I was for a time, after... I had nightmares." He whispered back.

"How did they stop?"

Lancelot was quiet for a moment. Cerys massaged the back of his head with her fingers and he closed his eyes. He wound his arms around her once more and held her close.

"I... I drank, I found women to distract me. I revelled in battle. I became everything I hated about myself. A killer, a mercenary. You remember how I was then."

He could feel her nod. "Each of you has your own way of dealing with it." She said, pulling away from him. She touched his lips with her fingers and he kissed them. "You caroused, became hard for awhile. I remember you were not that easy to be around. That was a long time ago."

"But when I started working in the shop... I used my hands for something other than killing. I was able to do something worthwhile. I didn't realize then how it helped me, but I see now. The nightmares and the pain stopped."

"And it has took you this long after to realize it." Cerys said, shifting up. "Let's hope Gawain can see sooner." She added sadly.

She undid the pins at the back of her head and her hair fell about her face. She reached over and placed her pins... their pins... on the side of the bed, smiling as she touched them lovingly before laying back down beside him.

Lancelot ran fingers through her hair, spreading it out over her shoulder. She closed her eyes slowly, her hands folding under her head.

He leaned in and kissed her softly on her cheek.

"Yes. You were my undoing." He smiled into her neck as he continued his kissing. She sighed softly and rolled to her back, her arms now coming up to fold him in. He found her lips and deepened his kiss, pressing his body softly against hers.

"Lancelot?" She wavered as he slowly ran a hand up her thigh, breaking their kiss.

"Yes?"

"Will I be enough for you, to give you comfort?"

He stopped and raised himself up a bit to look to her. How could she ask that? He gave her a questioning look.

Suddenly he understood what she meant to ask, and he blinked. She needed reassurance from him tonight that if he ever felt pain again like Gawain was feeling, that she would be what he needed to heal.

All those women over the years, he had been insatiable. She knew this. He softly smiled and made a noise in his throat. He never even considered it anymore.

"Always. I need you Cerys."

With that she kissed him hard, pulling him down to her. He opened her mouth with his tongue, showing his need for her as he groaned into her mouth. She responded, pressing herself into him.

They began frantically undoing each others clothing. His tunic went under the bed, her dress found its way to hang over the headboard as she flung it from her body. His trews met the floor with a soft plop, her second underdress that she had put on after the baths went flying.

He held her body to the bed as his lips roamed over her, covering her in kisses, tasting her with his tongue. His fingers dug into her hips as he bit at her inner thighs. She moaned and laced her fingers in his hair. She pulled him back up to her, her eyes flashing.

"I need you... inside me." She rasped, nipping at his lips. He growled back, his knee coming up between her legs and sliding them apart. She sat up then and he pulled her onto his lap. Legs twined around his waist as he held her. Their foreheads met as he found himself slipping inside her.

"So... hot." He managed as they merged. Her moans echoed his as they clung to each other, hands moving over each other bodies, grasping and digging into flesh as they moved together, their need for each other blanking all else.

She gasped, knowing she was about to lose her control. She moved back to look in his eyes and then put her head back and cried out loudly. "Augh!"

She rocked back all the way in his hold, arching her back and crying out again as she lost control and the wave ripped through her. He bit at her breasts, playing his tongue over the nipples, feel­ing her shake as the waves of pleasure ran through her. His arm muscles rippled as he held her up, his hips moving with hers, not stopping. He growled and bit her shoulder.

He picked her up in his arms, and lowered her to the bed. Her eyes went dark with desire and he watched them as she ran her fingers up his spine, then back down, resting them on his lower back, barely touching, smiling wickedly. Sweat was pooling on him, he could feel himself get­ting closer to his own release. She could make him lose himself just from her touch there. He hissed between his teeth as she ran her nails up his back.

"Lanc... Oh!" She moaned then as he began moving inside her in earnest, his eyes boring into hers with passion, his teeth bared. She raised her hips off the bed as he drove himself into her hard, all thoughts except his need gone from his head.

Her hands came out to the sides of her body, grasping at the bedding underneath them. He felt her sweat mix with his. It was more than he could handle, he couldn't hold himself back any­more. One arm circled her waist to keep him to her tightly.

"Cerys... I... "He cried as he felt himself exploding. "Gods!"

She cried out as he sent his seed deep into her. He was shaking, he was exhausted. He had need­ed this so badly this night, with Gawain bringing back all those memories. He had needed to feel this connection to something real, something good. He had needed her. It had been her he want­ed to make love to, to release this tension with. It used to matter not who the woman was, but this time... he closed his eyes.

For the first time in his life he thanked the Gods that she was there, holding him, letting him love her. He felt no more sadness, he felt no more pain. He felt content.

She watched him slowly come down from his release, his breath ragged, licking his lips, his hair slicked with sweat, droplets falling from his forehead onto her stomach. He lowered her hips to the bed and collapsed to her side. She pulled him to her shoulder and pushed back his wet hair. His legs tangled with hers.

They both had needed this so very much.

She watched the worry lines ease from his forehead, his breathing relaxed, the knots in his shoulders gone. Gawain had brought back so many memories to him. She had wanted so badly to comfort him, and he had told her that only she could, in this way. She was amazed at him. Such deepness from a man, such need. And she had fulfilled it.

It was her final worry gone. She would be enough for him.

She watched as his eyes opened and he looked to her.

"Thank you." He said quietly.

"For what?"

"For... For loving me."

She touched her fingers to his lips to stop him.

"I will always be here."

He closed his eyes again and she listened to him slowly fall asleep on her shoulder. She turned her head to him, resting her forehead to his, and she too closed her eyes, willing sleep.

* * *

**Dear Reader:**

There are different kinds of sex. This is the needy kind. The need to be close, to drown yourself in another person, to relieve tension. Another first for Lancelot! He realizes that his need for her outweighs the need for release, and when combined, he can find true comfort.

Cerys is I think also discovering. She finally knows that she will be able to help him when times are good and bad. That she is what he needs. Her personality dictates that she helps others before herself, and now, she can, just by being herself. What a concept for her!

I think that this torment that Gawain has finally exploded with has, in a wierd way, brought them closer together. Sometimes it takes strife to really make you see what is important, and to understand a new closeness with that importance.

Thank you for your continued reading. I hope that you remember what is important to you, and that you take afew moments today to think of it, even perhaps reach for it. No matter when times are good or bed, we all need that.

_Cardeia_


	47. Gathering

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the character names, save my own original creations. I do not wish to be compensated for this work, nor do I wish to infringe on any copyrights held by any stakeholders of the movie King Arthur. This work is an original creation, based on the legend of King Arthur and his knights.

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**Chapter 47: _Gathering_**

The door creaked.

Cerys opened one eye and looked out towards it. She shifted away from Lancelot's grasp.

The door creaked again.

"Hello?" She whispered. "Is someone there?"

She felt movement beside her in the bed. Before she could react, Lancelot had leapt out of bed and was standing, a dagger somehow in his hand, behind the door. How had he gotten a dagger so quickly? She watched him put a finger to his lips.

She wondered if he realized how... naked he was. Her fierce protector, in all his naked glory. Despite the fact that there could be a wild animal or an unwelcome guest in their rooms, she bit back a giggle.

"Cerys? It's Brinn."

She glanced to Lancelot. He relaxed and turned the dagger down in his hand. She threw him his leather trews, they landed with a flop at his feet. He grinned at her. Modesty was not one of his strong suits.

"Brinn? It is quite late. Are you alright?"

Brinn opened the door. He was in his clothing, but looked as if he had been woken. His hair was rumpled, his eyes still showing sleep wrinkles.

"It's Gawain. He barged into my room, and he's in the corner, won't come out."

Cerys shared a glance with Lancelot, who had moved towards the bed to find the rest of his clothing. Cerys reached under the bed and handed Lancelot his undertunic, and found her own dress flung above the headboard.

He was making her messy with his habits. She smiled a bit remembering how her dress had made it to the headboard. She blinked and refocused on the men and what Brinn had just report­ed.

"Is he awake?" Lancelot asked, putting the dagger back underneath his side of the bed.

Brinn shook his head. "I'm not sure. He's just kind of staring into nothing, keeps mumbling."

Cerys stepped out of the bed, wincing. She would have bruises on her inner thighs come morn­ing. He had needed her so badly when they got back to the room. These bruises, however, she rather enjoyed receiving.

"Alright. We will go." She said quietly, grabbing her dress and slipping it on. She put a hand to her hair, smoothing it out. "He was upset earlier this evening. This is not surprising."

She was worried that this was going to upset Brinn. He nodded, his face serious.

"He is asking for someone named Gareth."

Cerys saw no need to lie to the boy, and she nodded. Lancelot was pulling on a light tunic and he answered before Cerys could.

"Gareth was my cousin and his closest friend. He was a knight, and he died fighting the Sax­ons."

"Oh."

Cerys put an arm around Brinn as they walked towards his room. Lancelot had strode ahead, and was at the door, poking his head in.

"Gawain?" He said quietly as he pushed it open and stepped in.

Cerys hurried her step and she and Brinn reached the door. She stepped in as well, and watched as Lancelot squatted down beside the blonde man and put a hand out to him.

Brinn had lit a lantern, and the glow across to the corner where he was sitting was enough to see the pain across his face, the torment that had obviously bubbled to the surface after so many years of pushing it back. He was holding a length of what looked to be scales from armour. He was fingering them.

It reminded Cerys of the ropes of beads the religious men used to run through their fingers, when she was in Powys. They would chant as they methodically went from one bead to the next, the long rope of them attached to their waists. Her memory found the scent of the incense, if only briefly.

The difference here was that Gawain was not praying. Gawain did not believe in a God that way.

He was glassy-eyed, and looked to have been sobbing. Her heart went out to him yet again. She turned to Brinn.

"Brinn, I need to you bring Galahad here."

Brinn nodded and trotted back out the door. Cerys turned her attention back to the two men in the corner.

"Gawain, come back to us here. Come on man..." He shook the mans arm slightly. Gawain looked at him blankly, blinked, then turned his head back to stare away.

Cerys knew that Lancelot was at a loss for what to do.

"I've sent Brinn for his brother." She said quietly.

Lancelot nodded and stood, crossing over to her and they both sat on the edge of Brinns bed and waited.

"Tell me why he screams every night Lancelot. Do you know?"

Lancelot sighed. She sensed that he was reluctant to share it with her. He looked at her, his face serious; his lips pressed together, and hung his arms between his legs, his elbows resting on thighs. He turned his head to look at her.

"He never speaks of what happened from the time when they were attacked to when we found him."

She looked to the ground. She ran a toe over the edge of what looked to be a rug. Brinn had been busy decorating. She noticed that the rooms were, for the first time in years, tidy.

"But when we found him, he had injuries, you remember?"

She nodded, her thoughts turned back to Gawain again. She had helped to treat them. She never asked what they were from; they were strange, compared to normal battle wounds. But, she as­sumed it was some sort of weapon that she had never seen before, or he had fallen. She never questioned it.

"We think he may have been brought into the Saxon encampment and beaten, perhaps even forced to watch Gareth being tortured."

Lancelot took her hands in his and looked over at Gawain, oblivious to them on the other side of the room.

"He couldn't remember what happened, or refused to tell us. When we... found Gareth the next spring, Gawain was violently ill the minute we saw him."

"How would his body have survived the winter?" She asked, not comprehending.

Lancelot drew a breath. "It didn't. All that was left was some bone and... and..." He faltered.

"I can handle it Lancelot, please. I want to know so I can help him."

"Well it was obvious he was tortured and then left for dead. The only way we identified him was that his green armour was still on the carcass."

Cerys felt Lancelot's grief then. Gareth had been his cousin, his only link to home. It must have been so hard for him then too. She rubbed her thumbs across his hands clasping hers, and they looked to each other. She tilted her head and watched the pain swirling in his eyes as he too re­membered. Then, they cleared and he turned them to Gawain.

"I really hope that now he has erupted, the nightmares will stop." He whispered, bowing his head.

"I'm sorry that you all had to see that." She whispered back. "I'm sorry I can't say the magic word and have it all go away."

He put a hand up to her head and smoothed her hair.

"You have already."

They turned at footsteps. Rumpled and half-dressed Galahad, along with Bors, filed into the tiny room. Arthur was right behind them. The door creaked open a bit further, and a groggy Tristan, pulled by Perceval, entered.

Gawain looked up at that moment. Cerys watched him look to each of the men. They were all here now. Perhaps this was what he needed.

She looked at each of the knights faces. Each was battling their own demons now, including her Lancelot. She then understood yet another reason why they fought and trained so hard. They sometimes needed to. What their jobs did to them made them afraid. Afraid they would become as Gawain was now. She understood then why Lancelot had felt so deeply that he was not a good person, that he was simply a killer. She felt an ache for them, she wished she could ease all their pain the way she could with Lancelot.

Well, perhaps not in the exact way. For some strange reason, she blushed then, thinking about earlier that evening. Not the best time, she chastised herself.

She slipped quietly out of the room to listen at the door with Brinn in her arms.

"You don't stay?" He whispered to her as she rocked him back and forth, more for her own com­fort than his.

"They must face this together." She said. She didn't know why, but she had just felt that way.

* * *

**Dear Reader:**

And thus we now have the gathering of men to help their companion. Kind of like an intervention, medieval style.

Cerys thinks talking may help him, Lancelot thinks he may just need to fight and get it out of his system. There may be a happy medium, I'm not sure yet.

The one thing that is obvious to me as I wrote this is that he could not go through it alone. I wouldn't have let him, neither will they.

My pen is calling to me to continue, so I leave you with your thoughts on our Gawain and his healing.

_Cardeia_


	48. Waiting

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the character names, save my own original creations. I do not wish to be compensated for this work, nor do I wish to infringe on any copyrights held by any stakeholders of the movie King Arthur. This work is an original creation, based on the legend of King Arthur and his knights.

* * *

**Scribe Notes:**

_Calliann:_ I think the need to make sure she would be enough for him was something I had to bring in. This seemed like the best place, thinking about how she could comfort him, and her understanding why he did carouse all those women. I never thought about pulling Tristan in, other than the fact that he may have been either half asleep or drunk with Perceval. But, you are right, of all the knights, he would be the least likely to want to spend time in a little room with Gawain.

_Ailis-70:_ I think it needs to be a little of both. I think he will need ot fight it out, but he has to break and tell someone about what happened when they got attacked. He needs to get that off his chest to someone. Not sure who it will be yet.

I think, for inspiration on how your Tristan treats Teagan from now on you should re-read One Thing from where he and she fall in love. There was such good chemistry, and that is what you want them to strive for, that level of intimacy again.

I do happy dances when yours come it too. This website is great for this. I have been able to read and discuss with people things that make me think, cry, laugh and above all else, feel like a writer again!

_Babaksmiles:_ Love can make any bad situation better. But love cannot save even a man who left hte toilet seat up and their "love" falls into it at 3 AM. They die horrible horrible deaths by pillow fight when that happens. (wink) but yes, love mas made both Lancelot and Cerys better. Love from Brinn, the women, Rhia, all the people that revolve around them!

_Sokorra Lewis:_ Bad is how we know what good is. Dark lets us see light. Sad times helps us to know when we are happy, and reminds us of how we got where we were.

You can do it, just keep writing! I have faith in your pen.

_Lilstrumrgrl527:_ I'm working on it! Here are two more chapters for you!

_drew'sgirl:_ Hey! So happy that my comments continue to inspire you! That is great!I have enjoyed writing the other characters in as well, it was refreshing a bit, giving me all kinds of ideas.

_LovelyHeidi:_ Yay! I always hated exams. Yes, everyone has their own way of dealing with things, as Cerys understands in one ofthe earlier chapters. Gawain has been drinking and not dealing with it and now its time for the rest of them to come up with a new way for him.

_Lady11Occult:_ Here is part of it for you (grin)

gwenn0: Never boring! Its good! You got me thinking and adjusting and it madethe storybetter! I elude to why Gawain was in Lancelot/Brinn's rooms later on, its not what you think! (grin) The gathering in itself may not be the solution, but one can be brought forth from it in some way (hint, wink).

_et cetera et cetera_: Thank you! One thing I have learned to do is relax a bit with this story. I'm not as self critical as I was. I am glad that I raised emotion in you with the chapters. They were both full of it, both from a needing perspective and a tortuous one. Both elements of past memories for me, brought into this story. Life has a funny way of giving you the fuel for creative fire just when you need it!

_Melosine:_ You may not read this for awhile (working through the story as you are), but thank you for your review of chapter 3! I think your story is amazing as well, and I highly recommend "What You Do To Survive" to everyone here to read. It's fabulous, especially for you Tristan fans out there.

Ok, here are two more chapters

* * *

**Chapter 48: _Waiting_**

The men regarded him, all crushed into the small room.

They knew he was tired of the dreams, tired of the torment, and that he wanted it all to stop. He looked down at the green scales in his hands.

All he had left were these useless bits of copper and his memories. Horrible memories. He had never shared them with anyone. He could never bring himself to. He heaved the scales away from him, a soft yelp from Perceval as he dodged them. They hit the wall with a metallic crash and slid to the floor. He buried his head in his arms, his blonde hair falling to hide his face.

"Go away." He rasped.

Galahad slid down the wall to sit beside his brother. He propped his elbows on his bent knees, his fingers holding his head up and he tilted to look at Gawain.

"I'm afraid we can't do that now." Galahad replied. He sighed then, putting his head back against the wall and closed his eyes briefly, then opening them to look at the other men. Nods and understanding looks were their replies. They had done this before, for others. Once sum­moned, they would stay.

If he talked, they would listen. If not, they waited. If he flew off the handle again, they could restrain him.

Gawain just sat, and the men shifted about. Bors sat on the bed, Tristan leaned up against the wall. Arthur stood with arms crossed and Perceval paced. Lancelot crouched down in front of Gawain.

And they waited.

Gawain lifted his head some time later to see them all still there, all still waiting for him. He looked to Lancelot, who was now sitting cross-legged in front of him, his eyes closed. Bors was perched forward, arms on his thighs, sitting on the bed, Arthur and Tristan leaning up against the wall quietly talking. Perceval was standing against the door, and looked to be sleeping. There was no way he could leave now. They would strong-arm him out of it.

Only Galahad was still keenly watching him.

"You want to tell us?"

Gawain blinked. He did not like being cornered this way, forced.

"You know you very nearly hurt Cerys tonight with your little outburst. I ought to beat the living snot out of you for that." Lancelot added, his eyes never opening, his chin propped in his fists.

Gawain cleared his throat, causing the others to turn around. He looked around the room again. He had nearly hurt Cerys? He had not even thought of her sitting there when he had lost his tem­per. He rubbed his forehead. That was the last thing he had wanted to do.

"I'm sorry." He mumbled.

"You bloody well should be. Now out with it before I decide to stop being so nice."

Gawain heard Bors' attempt to keep a chuckle back. It was kind of funny. Lancelot being "nice"? Love had softened the man. He snorted under his breath.

The men shifted around him again. He didn't want to talk about it. He wasn't ready.

"No."

"No?" Galahad asked.

Arthur shook his head. Lancelot opened his eyes and tilted his head up to look at the command­er.

"I really do want to..."

Arthur made a noise at Lancelot and threw a cautionary look. "Would solve nothing, old friend."

Gawain watched them. He envied Lancelot. He still had his close friend, and now he was mar­rying Cerys. He had his life complete. What did Gawain have? Some rusted green scales and a brother who was slowly growing away from him. He felt very alone, despite the six other men in the room with him right then.

"I can't. Not right now." He croaked, putting his head down again. He just wanted to be alone and gather his thoughts.

He heard a collective sigh. The knights shifted around him once again.

And they waited.

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Cerys had taken Brinn back to her rooms and they were cuddled up together on the bed. He was sleeping soundly.

She, however, was wide awake.

They had never told her about Gareth. She had assumed he had been captured and taken off, or ran away, there was never a body to bury. They had his sword, but Gawain refused to put it in the cemetery and had taken it. By right it had been Lancelot's, and Lancelot had let him.

Cerys remembered Lancelot sitting by himself in the stables crying when she had found him once they had come back from... well... now she knew what. He had pushed her away and strode out when she tried to comfort him. He wasn't like Arthur, she couldn't hold him and run her hands through his hair to soothe him then.

He had hated having people feel for him, try to comfort him. She remembered being hurt, but she understood. At that point he was her closest friend, confidante, but he was a big, fearsome knight as well. Tough to the bone and beyond.

She was glad he had changed.

She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. Now Gawain was doing the same thing, years later. Had he held this inside him this whole time? She wondered now if the valerian had only prolonged the torment instead of helping him. She felt guilty for a few moments.

But if he never talked, how could they have known?

She sighed and realized she was not going to sleep. She silently rose and gathered up some tally-sticks and her cloak. She would go sit in the kitchens and work, get some organizing done for the spring plant. It would be soon and she wasn't ready yet. Plus, she was hungry now. She could scare up something to eat there.

And she would wait to hear if he had talked. Otherwise it was going to be a long night. Now that he had been found, they would wait with him until he gave them an idea of how to help. They had done this before, for others.

She saw a light coming from the kitchens as she made her way there. Once she was inside, she was not surprised to see a sleepy Guinevere and Nimli sharing a cup of cider and some dried dates.

"Couldn't sleep?" Guinevere said as she pushed the plate towards Cerys.

Cerys shook her head and they sat in silence for a moment. They were here for the exact same reason she was. They were worried about Gawain, and their men were in with him.

"How in all the God's names did they all fit in that small room?" Nimli asked as she rose to find Cerys a cup.

"It was a tight fit." Cerys replied, chuckling. It was, she realized, somewhat amusing despite the situation. All those men in that tiny space. Poor Brinn would have a mess on his hands by morn­ing. Bors would have the bed to himself by now.

A sound from the doorway turned their heads and Lorina with her baby entered the kitchens. Lorina, like them, looked tired, but unable to sleep. She hefted the baby to her hip and sat beside Cerys. Cerys held out a finger and the baby latched strong fingers onto it and brought it to his mouth, sucking. She played with him for a few moments, watching his blue eyes dance about, a drooling smile giving her indication he was enjoying her finger very much. She smiled softly to him and made faces.

Lorina, without looking, handed the baby off to Cerys and she cradled him in her arm. He immediately fell asleep.

"Any word?" Lorina asked, smiling down to her now sleeping child, flexing her arm and pointing to him. "He hasn't slept either. You're magic with him."

Cerys shook her head and smiled. "No, no word. He's such a good baby. He can't be Bors' get."

Lorina winked, putting a finger to her lips. The two women both chuckled.

"In that tiny room." Nimli said again as she returned. "Tis good they all had baths."

The four women wrinkled their noses in unison and laughed as Nimli handed cups and brought out a pitcher of cider. She winked and plopped a cloth full of dried and salted almonds down in the middle of the table, and a pot of honey to dip them in.

As they were talking idly, Dory came into the kitchens. She stood at the doorway a moment. Cerys turned her head and motioned to her.

"Dory, please come join us. You cannot sleep either?"

Dory shook her head and bit her lip. It looked like she had been crying; her eyes were red-rimmed. Lorina patted the bench next to her.

"Come sit, child. We can all gossip about our men. It will pass the time well."

A small smile echoed on her lips and she walked over and sat. Nimli immediately set another cup in front of her but she shook her head.

Dory placed her fist just above the table and then let go. A green scale clacked lightly onto the table as she opened her hand. She pulled her hand away to tuck back into her lap.

The women looked at it with wide eyes. Cerys looked at Dory.

"Where did you get that?"

"it was on Galahad's bunk when we went to bed. I grabbed it before he saw." She said quietly. She was trembling now. "This evening, Gawain was so mad..."

Lorina put an arm around her and leaned her head to Dory's. The rest of the women looked to each other. Nimli, never one to sit still, immediately went and drew a full pitcher of wine from a barrell, the liquid sound reaching back to them. She poured herself a cup, right on top of the cider, and offered to the others.

"I think we need something stronger than cider. Sorry Guin'."

Guinevere shrugged. "Soon I can again drink wine." and she patted her belly.

"He's lost his mind." Nimli whispered. "Usually giving things away means..."

Dory burst into tears and buried her face in her hands. The baby woke and reached for Lorina, making the beginnings of a wail. Lorina picked him up and began to pace around the table, let­ting him nurse and bouncing him softly. She wandered over to the stoves, left simmering with coals, and warmed her back as he fed.

Her face was set, and she shared a glance with Cerys. They had both known Gareth well, grow­ing up in the fort when they were children with him. Dory had only been here a few years, and unless Galahad told her, she would not know much about their "Green Knight".

Guinevere had only gotten to know him before he was killed, Cerys had only been back for three years when it happened, Guinevere and Arthur married a year. Cerys' thoughts went to that day again, and Gareth's laughter echoed in her head as she remembered.

Nimli too, Cerys realized, never met the man. Cerys thought that some day, she would have to recount the tale to them. But not tonight. They needed no more reason to be upset. Especially Dory.

Cerys slid over to Dory and put her arms around the girl.

"Stop. It's alright. You did nothing wrong. He hurts very deeply." She said calmly, patting her shoulders. "It happened long ago."

"But..." She started.

"We are all worried." Guinevere said, reaching a hand across to Dory. Dory timidly put her hand out and grasped it. She sniffled.

"I feel that I have not helped by being with Galahad so many nights, in their rooms." She mum­bled, her eyes on her lap. "He has been so sad lately, and I have been distracting Galahad from helping him."

Cerys thinned her lips. In truth Dory was probably right, but it was not up to Galahad to stop his life to help a brother who seemed incapable of getting past this torment. She patted Dory's thigh and filled her cup.

"Dory, know that you are not the cause of this, please."

Dory nodded and her eyes began to clear again. After a few moments of reassurance from the rest of the women, she picked up her cup and smiled slightly, sipping the wine Nimli poured in it. Lorina sat again and the baby was passed around from woman to woman. Their mood light­ened. It was a good distraction, and all five women seemed relieved for it.

They chatted and crunched on almonds, and finished off the dates. Cerys watched Dory relax a bit, and even giggle at some of the bits of gossip that Nimli was revealing. She knew every­thing about the goings on in the fort! How did she do that?

Once past the shyness, Cerys observed that Dory was a lovely girl. Cerys thought quickly that Galahad chose well. She mentally crossed her fingers for luck that the two would stay together.

"Nimli, you were friendly with Perceval this evening in the baths." Guinevere fished a bit later, as she reached for another almond, her tone jesting.

Nimli raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And what of it?"

"Weren't you being courted by Ganis?"

Nimli crossed her eyes and made sound and motion with her hand that she was choking, then smiled and laughed. "Are you addled in the head? Tie myself to that lop-eared man? He would drive me batty with his 'My arse' this and 'My arse' that."

The women laughed out loud in unison at her impersonation of their friend. They all loved Ganis, but, Nimli was correct, he may not have been the right lover for her.

"He's a sweet man, don't get me wrong..." She added more seriously, shrugging her shoulders. Cerys laughed. Indeed he was sweet, and kind to a fault. Perhaps Hywel's daughter would be a better match. She pursed her lips as she thought about it.

Ah, she was not the matchmaker, time would tell. She brought her thoughts back to her friends around the table.

"Perceval is quite fickle in his affections towards the ladies. Be careful." Lorina warned.

"I can handle Perceval. Who said I wanted to marry him?" Nimli jested as she sipped her cup again, her eyebrows wiggling.

'I think Perceval may have met his match in the game, ladies." Cerys countered. They all laughed again.

"Careful Nimli, that is what I said about Bors." Lorina said between giggles. The baby gurgled as if to agree with her, and the women renewed their laughing.

Cerys realized that being together with these women was balm for her, and she was grateful for their company, especially the laughter to ease their tension. Tally sticks and spring plants could wait until morning. She gave Dory's hand a spontaneous squeeze then, making the girl smile.

"I wonder how it's going in there." Guinvere murmured, sobering, playing with the hem on her cloak.

The five women sat in silence then, sipping wine and cider. Each one thought on their lovers and husbands, now sitting in a small room, trying for their fellow knight to open up, or let them help him.

Each one looked at each other and they knew.

There was nothing they could do but wait.

* * *

**Dear Reader:**

And now we wait...

no just kidding... I posted the next chapter as well.(grin)

The men will stay and make sure he does nothing stupid. that is what friends do. Each thinking on how they can help. Morning should bring on a few ideas. (hint)

I thought this would be a great time to pull the ladies together and get Cerys' point of view on it. They are all gathered in te baths but we never get in on the conversation. Plus, there is gossip that must be spilled, and the women need a distraction.

On to the next!

_Cardeia_


	49. Best Medicine

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the character names, save my own original creations. I do not wish to be compensated for this work, nor do I wish to infringe on any copyrights held by any stakeholders of the movie King Arthur. This work is an original creation, based on the legend of King Arthur and his knights.

* * *

**Chapter 49: _Best Medicine_**

The morning sun came in the small window of the room and woke Lancelot. He was still sitting in front of Gawain, who had fallen into a fitful sleep. Galahad nodded wearily to him as he opened his eyes. It was obvious that Galahad had not slept.

Bors was snoring, completely stretched out on the bed, his feet dangling off the end, his arms reaching either side of the cot, hands flapped out over the edges. It was the only sound in the room save the birdsong coming in through the window. Lancelot shook his head, thinking that this must have been the most room Bors would have seen in a bed for awhile.

He took advantage of it well.

Arthur was sitting, leaned against the wall, as was Perceval, both sound asleep. Tristan was awake and leaning against the far wall, cleaning his fingernails with a small knife, occasionally looking up towards the corner where Gawain was.

Lancelot's thoughts turned and he contemplated that this was perhaps the first time in a long time he had actually spent a night in these rooms, and they weren't his anymore. He grimaced and ran a hand over his face. They had needed to stay with him. It may have been the only way Gawain would have made it through the night without trying something stupid. He glanced about the room. Guards or companions? He was sure it was both, but which way would Gawain see it?

He realized with a start why Gawain would have chosen this room to be in, it had confused him last night why he would seek Brinn out. Gareth had shared this room with Lancelot for years.

It suddenly made sense why he was here now.

"He didn't have any nightmares once he slept." Galahad whispered.

Lancelot lifted his eyebrows and nodded. "Good." He stretched his arms out, yawned and rose quietly, continuing his stretch. Tristan stepped to his side.

"He," He murmured and pointed with his knife, "Needs a ride out or a good thrashing. We can't sit with him every night."

Lancelot blinked. Arthur shifted then and opened his eyes, looking right at Tristan.

"Take him with you."

Tristan turned his head and appeared to think on that. Galahad looked from Tristan to Arthur. He looked questioningly at Tristan. Lancelot watched this exchange and then realized what Arthur was thinking. Would Tristan want that?

He then turned to watch Tristan.

"Alright." Tristan said, nodding. "She might help, you think?"

Arthur shrugged and glanced at Gawain. "We don't have much else to go on."

They stood in silence. Galahad looked confused, Lancelot, Arthur and Tristan each had fur­rowed their brows. Lancelot knew Tristan referred to Rhia. Could she help? He had no idea. She had given him much to think on, it was possible.

A knock at the door a few moments later woke Perceval, and Dafydd poked his head in. Bors mumbled something incoherent and rolled over onto his side, the bed creaking. Gawain never stirred. Perceval looked annoyed and closed his eyes again. Dafydd surveyed the room.

"Cerys sent me over." He counted all seven men in the room. He noticed Gawain in the corner, and the haggard looks of Galahad and Arthur. So Gawain had finally snapped. He wondered when that would happen.

Lancelot held out a hand and pulled Arthur to his feet. Arthur tugged down his leather tunic and motioned out the door for he and Dafydd to step outside. Dafydd nodded. Lancelot followed them.

"Ahhhhh... Fresh air." He said as they grouped just outside the door, and stretched again. Per­ceval brushed past them and around the corner. "Must piss." He mumbled. A hint of a smile crossed Arthur's face. The Gods knew they needed some humour. Never doubt Perceval's abil­ity to bring a smile in the morning, Lancelot reflected briefly.

From inside the room they heard a loud snore come from Bors and the creak of the bed as he shifted again. More levity, Lancelot thought, and caught Arthur's eye, they both shared a smirk.

Someone was going to have to wake that sleeping bear at some point and send him back to his own cave. Lancelot wondered briefly if they should find Lorina for the job. She might jus throw a pail of water at him or some other form of torture.

She had a strange sense of humour when it came to her husband, Lancelot mused as he looked about the fort where they were standing. He yawned again and focused back on Dafydd and Arthur. There would be time for idle thought later.

"You stayed with him all night?" Dafydd asked, squinting in the morning sun. Arthur nodded.

"We did."

"Did he..."

"No."

"The dreams are every night, and he lost his temper in the common last evening." Lancelot add­ed. "Brinn came and got Cerys and I when he barged into his room."

"Tough call." Dafydd finally said after a few moments of quiet between the three men. They all nodded. Dafydd sighed and scratched his head.

"There isn't much I can do, you know. It's up to him to reconcile to Gareth." He said sadly. "When I was treating Cerys' hands, I saw the same thing in her."

Both Arthur and Lancelot stiffened. Lancelot still felt guilty for leaving her with the harvest, and he knew Arthur had felt it even worse, being the commander and king here, and her only blood relative. Dafydd noticed it and his face softened. The two men in this fort that loved her the most. He put up his hands.

They needed nothing else to worry about, especially something that had already past.

"What saved her was Brinn and the women, you know. They stayed with her, helped her, com­forted her." He said, then pointed at Arthur. "Your wife, and Bors' wife were Godsends to me while she was sick."

Lancelot relaxed a bit then. Yes, it was good that she was not alone. He wished he could have been here, but in the end, it had worked out. Dafydd was telling them, in his own way, that Ga­wain needed them more now than ever. It would be the best medicine, not some potion or herbal tonic that he could provide.

"He's going to ride out with Tristan on a coast run today." Arthur said, dipping his head.

Dafydd smiled and bobbed his head happily. "She could do some good there, get him thinking eh?"

Lancelot groaned. If Tristan knew that Dafydd knew about his runs, Tristan would want to strangle Arthur or Lancelot, since they were the only ones that Tristan was aware of knowing. He raised his eyebrow and looked at Arthur. Very confusing. He wondered how women kept gossip such as this straight so easily.

"Anyone else know about this that you should share with me?"

Arthur chuckled. "Dafydd was the one that told me."

Lancelot shook his head, the humour in the evolution of this secret not lost on him. " I am going to go find Cerys. No doubt she will want to know what happened."

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Gawain shoved his saddlebags onto Demetia's back with a scowl. He didn't want to go for a ride, but Arthur had not made argument possible. Tristan was calmly backing Sky out of his own stall. Jols was holding Cerys' small chestnut mare, who was also saddled and ready.

"What're you taking her for?" Gawain asked grumpily.

Tristan regarded him. "Pack horse."

"You've never taken a pack horse before."

"Well this time I am."

Gawain shut his mouth then. It seemed that all his friends were not letting him argue on any­thing. He really was itching for some sort of fight. He strapped his axe and mace onto the front of his saddle and sighed. Last night had been bad enough, being babysat. He was feeling horrid, and wanted nothing more than to let out some frustration. His thoughts turned to Gareth again, and what Lancelot had told him. He felt very stupid for flying off the handle.

He really was torturing himself, barging into Gareth's old rooms. It wasn't like he would be there. In fact all he'd done was scare the life out of Lancelot's squire.

Cerys walked into the stable as the men were leading the horses out, a set of tallies in her hand. She looked at her mare surprisedly, being led out, a pony rope from it to Tristan's saddle.

"Why are you taking Cei?" She asked Tristan as she reached his side. He grimaced at her and turned to adjust her tack.

"He says he needs a pack horse." Gawain snapped.

Cerys turned to him. She was so mad at him, and so worried about him, and it was making her want to smack him and hug him at the same time! Damned men, she thought as she marched over. She glared up at him, her hands balled into fists. She unclenched one and smacked him hard across the arm.

"Don't you ever do what you did last night again, do you understand? You have the lot of us worried. The women were up all night." then she lowered her voice. "You are lucky Dory found that damned green scale before Galahad saw it on his bed. She was very upset by it."

Gawain lowered his head. He felt bad enough as it was. He raised his eyes to her. Dory had found the scale? He wondered why she didn't tell Galahad. He fiddled with the one still tied to Demetia's mane. He had dropped it when he was looking for the links he kept in his chest, and forgotten to pick it up. They must have thought he...

He groaned. Now they would think he was being daft as well as tortured.

"I'm sorry Cerys. I should not have flipped the table like that."

Her face softened and she then grabbed his hand. "Don't. I am fine. I am more worried about you."

Tristan interrupted them. "Time to ride."

Cerys turned and put her hands to her hips. "And just why do you need to take my horse, we have the others." She pointed over to where a brown horse rump stood out of a stall, swishing at flies, cocked on one hip.

"Aren't you testy this morning?"

Cerys pursed her lips, knowing full well that was the only answer she was going to get out of him. She tilted her head to look at Tristan. He had certainly been acting differently of late.

What was he up to? She would have to ask Lancelot when she had a chance.

"Well then be safe, brother, and if you lame her or hurt her..." She said quietly, with a hint of humour. She leaned up, brushing his hair to the side and pecking his cheek.

"Empty threats as well, sister?" He jested, a small smile coming to his lips as he tweaked her nose. "You aren't pregnant are you? Such moodiness from a woman..."

She stuck her tongue out at him and he smiled, tugging at her hair before he turned to continued to check his tack. Perhaps she was being testy. She'd had no sleep. They were used to it more than her, at least now, given that she wasn't up most nights worrying when they were gone anymore.

So be it, he could take her, it would do Cei good to get out and run a bit.

The men mounted up, and she stepped back as they moved out of the stable yard. Her mare rolled an eye back, not used to being led, waiting for Cerys to jump on.

"Cei, go with him. The Gods know what he needs you for."

She laughed as the mare squealed and humped her back, then trotted forward as Tristan pulled on the pony rope. The mare gave another shake of her head and nipped Tristan's leg.

"Bloody mares." he grunted, coiling the rope up a bit more and snugging her head to Sky's shoulder. The mare let out a big sigh and resigned herself to him.

"Hey!" Gawain said. A bit of humour was in his voice then, patting Dementia's shoulder. Cerys smiled. He would do well with a ride out to the coast and back. Perhaps clear his head and give him a chance to think on things. A ride always seemed to bring Lancelot's humour back when he was in a stew over something.

Jols dropped an arm around her shoulders as the men made their way from the yard. She patted his hand and looked up at him. A smile was on his face.

"Three less to muck out for a day." He said jovially.Cerys giggled.

"Why did he need Cei? he could've taken Prynawn, your pack horse, just as easily."

"Wouldn't tell me. Just said he needed a quiet horse. Prynawn can be stubborn."

Gawain stopped his horse before they rounded the corner by the kitchens and looked back. Cerys waved at him, as did Jols. He sighed and raised a hand back.

When he got back, he would have to make it up to her. He was being a daft fool with this brood­ing and tantrums.

Gareth would have decked him by now, for being such an ass.

He clucked to Demetia, his face set. He missed Gareth so much right then that he lost his thoughts to memories as his gaze settled to watching Tristan's back while they rode out of the fort.

* * *

**Dear Reader:**

What do you think? Can she help him?

I leave you with that thought and look forward to reading them. It popped into my head that perhaps this would be a neat way to help Gawain, and let him get out at the same time. As well, Tristan may have some cryptic way of telling him he's being an ass. He needs someone to give him a belt, as Tristan well knows. Hmm.. interesting combination, and I am having fun with it.

I leave you as well with a thought. When you think back on the sad times in your life, remember that they make you who you are today. Take those sad memories and write them down, put them in a character, get them out of you and you may see them in a different light!

May your pens move swiftly as you remember,

_Cardeia_


	50. Luck From a Lady

**Disclaimer: **I do not own any of the character names, save my own original creations. I do not wish to be compensated for this work, nor do I wish to infringe on any copyrights held by any stakeholders of the movie King Arthur. This work is an original creation, based on the legend of King Arthur and his knights.

* * *

**Scribe Notes:**

_All:_ Wow! Reviews galore. I have gotten some wonderful reviews in the past week or so, and they have been truly inspiring. Thank you everyone. On to comments:

_ElvenStar5:_ Well he's going to get his knock and his gallop, but here's two more chapters for you! I think the best part about working and posting one chapter at a time is that I get to give you, the reader, my thoughts at the end, and you give me your inspiration from them almost as much as the story! Its wonderful muse, and I enjoy sharing more than just the story with you.

_Calliann:_ I hope that Rhia can help him too, but not just yet. You'll see (wink). I had to put in the "beat the snot out" comment. It was so him, and I couldn't resist! I am so glad you liked them! Here are two more!

_Melosine:_ Glad you have caught up! I am so happy you like the story! Yes, I wanted to portray sort of a reality, but give it a bit of romance. Mud and muck are ok in certain contexts. I wanted to be factual, but not so much that it takes away from the fantasy of chivalry and dashing knights. The reality of this time is much harsher, but we get creative license to make it into something we would like it to be.

_Lilstrummrgrl527:_ Bottle of pop, what a neat analogy! Hang onto that one, it would be an interesting way of doing a freewrite. "Describe yourself as a food item". (grin)

I love Arthurian legend, fictional and reference. The names get into my head. Cei is actually another way of spelling Kay, but I thought it would be pronounced more like "key". And Cerys' mare is the "key" to bringing Wynn (pronounced "one") back. Just popped into my head and wrote itself on the page. I wanted to call the mare something else, but that was the only thing that fit.

_Lady11Occult:_ Yes, he is. (wink) But there are other things to resolve first, as you will read.

_gwenn0:_ Glad I could clear that green scale stuff up for you. I loved writing the scene in the kitchens with that chapter, it felt so much like the times I get together with my scrapbooking group and we just talk and laugh and eat and scrapbook. Having close friends is wonderful, especially when they are women (for women). there is a bond there that no man would ever understand. I hope you enjoy the next two chapters!

_Babaksmiles:_ Yes, toilet seats left up are nasty. (grin) He's getting much better now. Bachelors are hard to train. Yes, Cei will be for Wynn. She's the best horse for her to ride home on, being a smaller horse more suited for a lady. Here are two more chapters for you.

_Ailis-70:_ I could so picture my ex on his own queen sized bed, sprawled and snoring, muttering in French. I wrote that part with that stuck in my mind.

You know, I was talking to one of the managers where I work, and he was telling me about a similar situation when he was stationed with our Canadian troops in our North. One of the men became depressed, and they had to keep vigil. First the couldn't find him, and when they did they just sat with him. He said that the women wouldn't stay, because they wanted to comfort him and try to get him to talk, and it wasn't what he needed, so they forced them out. (He's a bit of a "men only in the army" kind of guy)That is where the inspiration came for the men to sit with him, when they found him. Funny...

The next two chapters (and following)are a bit of a twist, and I hope to bring a part closure to Gawain. I won't spoil it. It came to me as I was writing, and I thought that what I have coming would be a really interesting way to give him some relief.

Wynn will be on her way soon though, I promise.

_Sokorra Lewis:_ Gawain and Galahad are brothers. Gareth was Lancelot's blood-cousin and Gawain's best friend. So glad that you are enjoying! Here's a fun twist for you in the next two chapters!

_plzthx101:_ Wow! Thank you for your kind words! Really I am humbled. I am so glad that you enjoy Cerys and her knights. She started as an experiment and she has turned into so much more!

I think that Dory needs to come out of her shell quietly, and Galahad is helping. You see more of her in the next two chapters, and I think there is a bit more of what you are looking for in their "spark". It takes time for a shy person to open up, and Galahad is so boisterous, it helps her.

Lorina is Vanora, I just hated the name Vanora. She was poorly named in the movie, in my opinion. But, I should have kept her name, despite it's growing on me. I have had more comments of "That's not her name!" (grin).

Gawain is not ready for a love yet. He needs to heal himself and love himself first. Just like Lancelot needed to see past the killing machine, and Tristan needed to see that he could provide something more than a bed, and that Wynn could give him something too. I have a way for Gawain to be happy, don't worry. I won't spoil it to tell you if he does end up with someone or not. But he will be happy, and he will be at peace. That much I will divulge. (grin).

I am glad you see balance in the characters, and that you enjoy their thoughts and emotions. I try to put my emotional being into my words, it helps me to see the scenes in my mind's eye. When I am done writing in the evening, I find I am usually exhausted, wrung out. Some of hte chapters made me cry, some of them made me go take a cold shower. (wink). Writing is an emotional pastime, and as such, the best writers show their hearts when they put pens to paper. I see so much of that here on this website and it is inspirational to me. I don't get to write with passion when I work as a technical writer, but I can at home, and I relish it.

Thank you so much for your words of confidence and I hope you continue to enjoy!

_Sea Cucumber:_ One of your favorites! I am blushing! I try to mis drama with lightness so that you can see that for these people, hard life is indeed part of the time, and as such they are able to see humour in each other, as friends, knowing that they will make it through if together. I really want to bring their relationships through, and show how wonderful it can be with true companions and lovers at your side.

* * *

**Chapter 50: _Luck from a Lady_**

"Where are they going exactly?"

Galahad was pacing around the table. Galahad was fiddling with his fingers, picking up various cushions and throwing them down in the same spot. He was toeing stones that had risen over the winter in the floor of the hall. Galahad was restless, and worried...

And it was driving Lancelot batty.

Lancelot sighed and chewed on the bit of bread he had managed to wheedle out of the kitchens women's hands. Ever since the two had left, Galahad was peppering him with questions, which Lancelot was trying to avoid. Arthur stepped in as Galahad had asked the last one, and answered for him, throwing him a small round loaf of bread at the same time. Galahad caught it and tore it in two, the other half going into his cloak pocket.

"They are going on a coast run." He said, reaching for a cup and an ewer of water. "There's a fishing village they stay at before turning for home, there's a woman there who might be able to talk sense into your brother."

"Oh... You think it will help?"

Arthur levelled his gaze at Galahad. "I don't know."

The three men ate and drank in silence for a few moments, each thinking on it.

"Don't worry Galahad, he'll right himself soon enough." Lancelot said, breaking the silence, reading Galahads thoughts from his face.

They heard footsteps running towards the hall then. Heavy footsteps. They all turned in the di­rection of the noise.

"Bors." Arthur and Lancelot spoke together as they rose.

There would only be one reason that Bors was running. Lancelot swore in his head. Their day of languishing, and perhaps a nap with Cerys in the afternoon was over. He mentally reminded himself to tell Bors what for later.

Then he did swear out loud. Arthur raised an eyebrow at that.

Bors thundered in, his breath heaving, his face red.

"We've... Got to... go!" He managed before he put his hand out to the table and wheezed. "Ganis... Saxons... West."

Arthur gave a worried glance to Lancelot, who looked to Galahad.

"That's the direction Tristan and Gawain went in."

The three men sprinted out towards the stables, Lancelot hollering for Brinn at the top of his lungs. They had to get the horses ready now. Damn Gawain for the lack of sleep, he thought as he shook the grogginess away and lengthened his stride.

"I'll catch up." Bors yelled as he stopped just outside the hall and put his hands to his knees. "Must stop drinking so much." He added to himself, trying to catch breath.

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Cerys heard the commotion and started for the stables, along with Lorina. They had been count­ing ale barrels in the common and had heard a large number of voices coming from that location.

"What's the racket?" Lorina asked as they rounded the corner.

The stables were a hive of activity. There were men and horses everywhere. She could see Per­ceval strapping on his greaves, Galahad helping Arthur into his cuirass. Bors shrugging into his own armour. Lorina sprinted ahead to help him.

Brinn trotted by them with Lancelot's armour. Cerys grabbed his helmet as it toppled from the top of the pile.

"What's going on?" She said as she hefted it and fell into step beside him.

"Saxons." Brinn puffed, setting the armour down in front of the benches in the stable once they reached them.

Cerys absorbed that bit of information. She looked around. Most of the men were saddling up, weapons stuffed into scabbards. She looked for Lancelot; he had almost finished tacking Klyndd. He looked over and saw her, and nodded, his face set. They were close then. She knew they were headed out two men short, and she shuddered.

"Where?" She asked as Lancelot reached her side.

She held up the first half of his cuirass and skirts. He stepped into it, hefting the metal and leath­er skirts over his thighs and buckling them to the bottom front half of the cuirass. She reached and pulled the arming point to bring the second half closed over his chest and began lacing it up, then buckling the back skirts to the back of the cuirass.

He adjusted and fiddled with the arming doublet and chainmail underneath to get it positioned as she tugged. He jingled, making her smile a bit. She liked that sound.

"West. Need to catch up to Tristan and Gawain."

Cerys nodded and handed him a vambrace as she buckled a greave over his studded trews. For some reason, helping him dress while Brinn finished with Klyndd was helping her. She, for some reason this time, was less afraid of him leaving. She liked this routine, but reflected that it helped her more than him, he most likely could get dressed faster without her fumbling.

She stood as she finished buckling his second greave. He had already tied on his elbow guards and shoulderplates. She held his Gladius sword scabbards to his back as he pulled the straps over his shoulders and knotted them in. He pulled on them, and she let go.

In the past, his battle armour did not allow him to wear his swords over his back, but he had modified it a few years ago, saying it was much more comfortable this way. He never fully trust­ed the new arming points that he and Hywel had poked. Cerys smiled as she remembered him standing in the armoury on the hottest day of the summer, swinging away and testing the points. he had nearly fainted from the heat, but was determined to break them if they were going to.

They hadn't.

She pushed the memory out and focused back to him. They were leaving.

"Good, they'll stay." he said, then moved off to help Perceval into his own shoulder plates. Brinn tapped her on the arm.

"Give this to him. He says he won't leave without it. Forgot when I came in."

Cerys took the tattered roll of linen Brinn plunked into her hand. It was the roll she had given him, what seemed like so long ago now. She looked down at it, and then the waft of mint came up to her. She smiled. He was a sentimental sap sometimes.

She could feel tears poking at the back of her eyes. She cleared her throat.

No time for that now.

As he came back to her, she reached up and stuffed the roll carefully down the front side of his cuirass. He smiled at her then, bent over and kissed her softly, their bodies coming together as much as they could with his armour, her arms about his neck. He deepened the kiss, his arms coming round her waist, holding her up to him. Her fingers found his curls, his arms tightened about her.

She wished he didn't have to go at that moment. She would rather have taken him back to their room and taken all his armour off again. She felt flushed with the familiar heat he awoke in her.

"Gods almighty would you two quit that? It's enough to make a man sick." Bors grunted as he passed with Raven in tow.

Cerys giggled as Lancelot broke the kiss and sent a raspberry noise out past her shoulder, to­wards the retreating back of Bors.

Bors waved a hand and then patted his right butt cheek.

"Don't tempt me, old man."

"Like to see you try, Goat."

Lancelot turned back to Cerys, his eyes dancing with humour. He softened then, and traced a finger down her cheek.

"You know why I carry that roll out with me?"

She shook her head. She really did know, but she wanted him to tell her. She lifted his helmet to him as they parted.

"You are with me no matter where I go, when I do."

She watched him buckle his helmet on and she ran fingers through the horse tail one more time for him. She swallowed. She rarely got to see him with it on.

She loved him so much, and she wanted him even more right then. He looked utterly devastating and very... masculine.

"The handsome knight." She said and stepped back from him, pushing her selfish desires down. No good to dwell on them now, she berated herself.

He grunted and reached for Klyndd's reins as Brinn proffered them, but smiled all the same.

"Careful, you'll turn me into a vain man."

"Too late for that." Galahad pushed at his shoulder as he passed with Terryn, Gawain's armour strapped to his saddle. Laughter was around them.

Cerys knew that the men were glad to be going out, despite the urgency, and the chance that their two companions were in trouble. They needed this outing, to stretch a winter's worth of idle­ness. These men were knights, they needed the exercise. She smiled as they jested and threw insults to each other behind grins.

It was time to go. Lancelot turned and dragged Klyndd out into the yard.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Nimli helping Perceval into his own helmet. He put a finger out to her cheek and she blushed. She lowered her head, and he smiled.

"Knights, lets ride!" Arthur bellowed as he settled into his saddle. The men quickly mounted up, Cerys watching from the doorway, Lancelot giving her a last look and mouthing an "I love you" before he swung a leg over Klyndd. She put her hand to her heart and nodded.

Guinevere was beside her then, sobbing and sniffling unabashedly. Their arms unconsciously came around each other, their friendship in the face of the men leaving giving familiar comfort.

"Hormones dear?" Lorina said as she too joined them.

Guinevere smacked her friends arm lightly, then they linked them. Nimli came up beside them too, a sad look to her face. Dory bounded past them into the yard, waving and calling to Galahad, her dark hair flying, her long legs taking huge strides to reach him in time.

He stopped Terryn as she reached him, and she held something up to him. The women watched him take it from her, squeeze his fist around it and look down to her. He reached and put a hand to her cheek, thumb rubbing over it as she let tears fall. He leaned over as far as he could and kissed her.

"Gods, they are in love, eh?" Nimli said quietly.

"So are you." Cerys said, glancing sideways at her. Nimli blushed and then waved as Perceval blew her a kiss from the saddle and pirouetted Apollo.

"Maybe." Nimli responded as she pretended to catch the kiss, then laughed.

The knights turned in unison and thundered off, leaving a cloud of dust in the yard, enveloping Dory completely. When it cleared, she was standing, her hand raised, watching them leave, a thin film over her hair and clothing.

She waited until they had turned the corner past the kitchens, lowered her hand, and walked slowly to the group of women back at the door. She wiped at tears, and smiled softly, shaking her head to loosen the dust.

"What did you give him?" Guinevere asked as they stood a moment, all locked in each others arms.

"The green scale I found on his bed." She replied.

"Why?"

"Luck for him... And his brother."

The women sobered at that thought, and Cerys made a silent prayer to her mother's Gods that the knights would return safely to them soon.

All of them.

* * *

**Dear Reader:**

Spring is here and that means that the hordes are awakening. It wouldn't be a Spring without a skirmish of some sort. There is a further purpose to this plot twist. Can any of you see it?

On to the next chapter we go. I thank you for your continued reading, your continued support, and your continued enthusiasm.

_Cardeia_


	51. Counting Saxons

**Disclaimer: **I do not own any of the character names, save my own original creations. I do not wish to be compensated for this work, nor do I wish to infringe on any copyrights held by any stakeholders of the movie King Arthur. This work is an original creation, based on the legend of King Arthur and his knights.

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**Chapter 51: _Counting Saxons_**

Ganis pulled his horse in beside Arthur as they galloped along the road, skirting the wall. Arthur glanced over as the man settled his horse to their pace. The leggy gelding was winded, but his ears were still up and he was drumming forward. Meritas shook his head, and the gelding shied off. Ganis brought him right back. Arthur chuckled as the gelding eyeballed the big grey stal­lion, and would go no closer than arms length.

"Meritas." Arthur growled and the horse flicked an ear back at his master and bounced through his stride, squealing and swatting his tail back and forth. Arthur laughed harder.

"You're being an ass."

He slapped the horse's neck. Meritas grunted, relenting, and put his head back down onto the bit.

Ganis puffed his chest as the horses matched strides and settled down beside each other. He still felt a bit conscious around Arthur, and felt he needed to really prove himself to the man. Ganis was happy that Arthur trusted him. It made him feel very important, and he liked that. He'd nev­er been important before Arthur and the knights had brought them home from Maruises estates.

Ganis was exhausted from riding. He had been out looking south, and had ridden straight home as soon as he saw the troops, skirting back up and around them. They were most definitely Sax­on; the banner they had stuck into the middle of their camp had made his stomach turn.

Awful things, those banners, and he shuddered involuntarily as he remembered.

He had felt he did well to get back home so quickly for the men. He had seen Tristan and Gawain riding by earlier, heading West. They would be riding right into it. He hoped it would be a peaceful encounter. Two against forty was not very good odds.

"How many?" Arthur shouted to him over the noise of horses hooves, snorting, tack and armour jingling.

"Look t'be forty or so." Ganis shouted back. "No 'orses, jussa bunch of men wit' weapons and tents."

Arthur thought a moment. "Alright. Where did you see them?"

"When y'get to th'big rock, turn right, an' gallop 'nother hour past the sunk'n stream an' they was camping there in a clearin'." He said, pointing further south.

"Ganis, I need you to go back to the fort. Gather the men and follow us when you can. We may need your help."

"Yessir." Ganis shouted then, and peeled his horse away from Arthur's, turning and riding back past the knights. They all raised a hand and greeted him as he passed, and he did the same, spur­ring forward once past them to race back to the fort, legs flapping, elbows out, urging the gelding forward, his small frame thrown out of the saddle with each stride.

"He certainly has enthusiasm." Galahad remarked as he turned to watch the thin man bounce along as they rounded a corner from view.

Perceval winked. "He's a good man."

"An' you've got his woman." Bors yelled from behind him. Perceval laughed, touched his fin­gers to his head, then lifted them to point up. An obvious signal of victory from the boisterous knight.

Bors snorted. "The lot of you are like fools, all in love and moon-faced."

"You're just jealous Bors. Getting tired of Lorina's beatings?" Lancelot yelled as he spurred Klyndd past him.

It was Bors' turn to send a raspberry at Lancelot's back.

Lancelot moved Klyndd up beside Arthur and the two stallions matched strides. The men nod­ded silently to each other. Lancelot felt tension rolling off of Arthur as they left the wall behind and started riding south and west. Meritas was not being an easy ride and the commander was clenching his jaw as he fought for a good hold on the horse's mouth.

Lancelot assumed Arthur was worried about Tristan and Gawain. If they got caught, it could be too much for Gawain to handle. This was much like when he and Gareth had gone out. Lancelot shook the thought away. It was mere coincidence, and the wrong time of year. Spring was when they found the aftermath. Would it matter to Gawain?

"Forty." Arthur said as the horses galloped side by side, once he had gotten Meritas back down onto the bit again.

Klyndd and Meritas were well adjusted to each other, and as such, Lancelot and Arthur often had quite lengthy discussions while galloping, able to get close enough to one another to speak normally, their knees often rubbing together, the horses flanks touching, the foam from their mouths flicking back onto both the men.

Well, as normal as one could whilst galloping with armour banging about. Lancelot smiled at the familiarity of it. He was enjoying this gallop, even though they were heading into a poten­tially dangerous situation.

"That's all?" He replied, nonchalantly looking about their surroundings as they pounded along the road.

Arthur raised his eyebrows and looked to Lancelot. He smiled a bit. Lancelot winked. He need­ed to make sure he stayed confident, for Arthur's sake.

And his own.

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Tristan was hiding in the brush, not far from the sunken stream, watching the band of Saxons that were camped, on his belly, arms under his chin, both resting on his sword. His eyes darted as he watched them.

He was counting the men he saw milling about. He guessed at around thirty, but there could be more. They usually travelled in troops of no less than forty men when patrolling. He counted five tents, and only one banner. There was a chief with them; otherwise there would be no ban­ner. This camp was strange though. The tents were old; the men were shabby and looked to be disorganized. Not the usual Saxon scouting party.

He had heard talk from some of the people in Wynn's village of a rogue band of Saxons who had split away from a main faction years ago, their chief was a madman, and they pillaged at random, tortured anyone who fell in front of them but did not receive the mercy of death... They couldn't have survived this long in this part of Britain, could they?

Idle gossip, he was sure of it. He dismissed it from his head and turned back to watching the camp.

The banner snapped in the wind. Tristan had never heard skin snap that way before. He didn't like it very much. He made a mental note to destroy that banner if he got his hands on it.

Or better yet, give its donor peace and bury it properly.

Stupid to be so close to the wall, he thought as he watched. He wondered what they were doing. They would find out soon enough, he supposed. He scratched his nose as some grass tickled it, and then broke the brown straw off.

He hated laying on the ground in Spring. It was cold, and the grass was itchy. He would much rather be on his feet. But, the brush as it was would not allow that.

He heard a quiet rustling and turned his head to see Gawain inching up behind him on his el­bows, coming to rest beside Tristan.

"You put up the marker?"

Gawain nodded. The horses were tethered a good distance away, lest they whicker or make any noise and give their position, and Gawain had gone back and found some slate, making a pile of rocks on the roadside. A long thin slab on top pointed in the direction of the horses. Tris­tan had assumed that word would get back to the fort of the threat, and if the men came upon it, they would know to stop there.

He hoped they would notice it. If Bors was leading, they might blow right by.

"Saw Ganis earlier, perhaps he made it this far and was able to get back." Gawain whispered, as he made himself comfortable. He laid his axe out beside him and swallowed, his own eyes darting as he too counted the men.

Tristan looked to the blonde knight. It would do him some good to crack some Saxon skulls to­day, he reflected. He desperately needed something to let out whatever it was that made him so angry last night.

Tristan realized he was hungry. He fished through his pockets for some nuts and silently popped them into his mouth. He offered to Gawain, who shook his head.

Of all the days to hit Saxons, it would be the day he was not wearing his proper battle armour and had an extra horse to deal with. He was glad that he had Gawain with him, in case they were forced to fight.

Tristan thought briefly that he would be very mad if they kept him from reaching Wynn this night.

Saxons would die if so.

"We could just walk in and challenge the leader." Gawain mused, as he settled further, and broke off more of the brown grass. He stuck the end of one into his mouth and chewed thought­fully.

Tristan could tell that he was spoiling for a fight. He smiled wickedly. He just might get it today.

But not yet.

He motioned with his head and the two men turned and crawled away, moving back towards the horses.

* * *

**Dear Reader:**

And thus the stage is set. I wanted to give the men a chance to fight, and for Gawain especially. Men who fight release their tension when doing so, they open their adrenalin to cleanse their minds of all. This will be good for him, and was always an intention to let him crack some skulls with his mace, as therapy.

But all is not quite set. There is more. Again I ask if you can see it. Any ideas? I am anxious to see if so.

I bid you happy reading and writing. I hope that your muses are as plentiful as the summer lilies that are now adorning my driveway. What helps you with your muse? Look outside your window. Is there anything there that inspires you? Write it down, use it as an element in a story. The laughter of a neighbors child, the whirr of a lawnmower, the gleam off a shiny car in the driveway. The smell of fresh cut grass or barbequing. All these things can inspire.

Here is to you finding something that inspires you to put your pen to paper and scribble furiously, as my farm does for me.

_Cardeia_


	52. Madness in the Middle

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the character names, save my own original creations. I do not wish to be compensated for this work, nor do I wish to infringe on any copyrights held by any stakeholders of the movie King Arthur. This work is an original creation, based on the legend of King Arthur and his knights.

* * *

**Warning: The next two chapters are a darker, and perhaps have some ideas in them that some people find a bit hard to read. Please be aware as you read.**

**It is not my intention to insult or cause discomfort, but to provide vehicle for thought.**

* * *

**Scribe Notes:**

_Melosine:_ The urgency paired with humour I wasn't so sure about, but I am glad that it worked for you. I had these done and was going to wait a day or so to post, but I decided to post now, since I am a tad worried they are where a lot of people would not want me to go.

_ElvenStar5:_ We camped for the weekend and everywhere there was fireworks for Canada Day. The people in the next campsite decided that 3 am was a good time to start letting them off. argh. But yes, they can be such an inspiration! We have contests for fireworks teams in Toronto, they are always set to music. Very cool.

Here are your updates and I am glad you enjoyed the last two chapters!

_Calliann_:You are a smart mind and you, I think, are on my level with my plot (wink). Were you reading my thoughts?

Yes please do go usethe bathhouse. I own nothing about Roman times so bring on the hot water and hot romance!

_Sokorra Lewis:_ I made you sqwee again! Yay! I love the way you write that in I can hear it (grin). Dory and Galahad are cute together. I wanted to pair him with someone that was his total opposite. He's so outgoing and youthful with his exuberance, I wanted a quiet shy girl to calm him, and he to bring her out. I think it works.

I watched Ella Enchanted. What a great family movie that is. but wow, when Hugh Dancy's character Char falls for Ella, he's very convincing. I now see him looking the same way at Dory. Very inspiring for their romance.

_AIlis-70:_ He gets to fight and more. These two chapters I am hesitant about but I like them. I feel they work, but I hope that my readers see it the same way.

My new Tristan sees himself withher now, so it would stand to reason that she enters his thoughts then. It really was fun, it popped into my head and I said "Yeah, he would say that".

I am reading one right now called Lone Knight which is quite good. Lancelot gets the worst treatment by enemies but its such a poignant and emotional piece. I really like it. Melosine's chapter was quite dark, but I thought it worked well in context with the story when I beta'ed it for her. She was worried it was too much, but now that this "event" has happened for her Tristan an Damara, I think things can begin to climb out of hte pit. She's a good authoress, I know she will make it work.

I have had a couple of other people go "hey leather skirts!" I totally missed the boat on that description! (grin)Skirts and skirting is a part of battle armour that goes from the cuirass to halfway down the thigh in Roman times. Roman footsoldiers even had pleated ones that looked like a bunch of neck-ties all strung together and bolted to the Lorica Segmentata (roman cuirass).More modern (1300 to 1500's AD) shortened the skirting to simply be a lengthened bit across the hips, usually segmented so it would collapse when in the saddle. Some even took on the same designs as the epaulettes (shoulder guards) and vambraces to match the armour. So Lancelot's skirts were the same as the ones he wore in the movie, with metal plates riveted to short leather flaps.

Ganis is fun, he's slapstick and you can do so much with that. Glad you enjoyed that part, I laughed when I wrote it.

Here are a couple of chapters that I hope are not too dark, and are not too much. I really hope you enjoy them.

_lilstrummrgrl527:_ See above in my reply to Ailis-70 for an explanation of skirting in armour. (grin) I see Russell in Russell's armour really. I love the way they dressed Lancelot in the movie, it was quite suave and really outlined his legs. that was sexy. The battle armour on him really outlined his waist, and I LOVED the way they gave him such a fiece mongol-horde look with his helmet on.

I am glad you liked the chapters. Here are two more that I hope you also enjoy.

_gwenn0:_ Cerys is discovering that love can be a many-splendored thing and she is now comfortable in it. She was always confident in her abilities of work, and now that she has resolved her worries of the men and her tendencies to work too hard through them, she can be confident in her sexuality too. Hey, its fun! I wish I was as confident as her sometimes, about that kind of thing. Humans are so complicated, no?

Here are two chapters that will hopefully answer your questions.

_et cetera et cetera:_ Don't apologize! It's great to get a review from you anytime. (grin) I don't really worry about whether everyone reviews. I worry about what people get out of my work, and how it makes them feel. That is more important. You have really reviewed my work well so it makes me happy, even if you don't do so for every chapter.

And yes, behind every successful man is a powerful woman. Right on!

_Babaksmiles:_ Thank you! I enjoy writing them. This one is a bit different, but I hope you enjoy it just as much. Yes, Lancelot is a romantic sap with Cerys. I admit to sighing when I thought of that. He finally told her why he keeps it, and doesn't use the mint. I remembered that I wrote in the chapter A Gamble Forgiven (I think) that he thought someday he would tell her why, and now he has! She figured it out long ago (being the woman that she is) but it was nice to hear it anyways. Just like when you know a man loves you, now and again you need the flowers and the wine and the dining to validate it. A girl needs romance.

If there are any men out there reading this, take notes! (wink)

_PetPoor:_ OH! thank you! I am glad you joined so you could review! I would allow anonymous reviews, but from reading other stories, I notice that the reviews tend to be more quantity than quality when anon reviews are allowed.

Yes I wish I could deduct my own vet bills and such too. My horses are my sanity and my best friends. I am so glad you like the story. I hope the next two chapters are not too gruesome for you.

Ok folks, here we go! Two more. Thanks very much for your reviews for the past two chapters. My scribe notes are getting quite long! (grin)

* * *

**Chapter 52: _Madness in the Middle_**

Tristan and Gawain had just rounded a corner when the knights saw them pounding up the road. Arthur sat and pulled up his horse as they met, his arm in the air.

The dust from the group sprayed everywhere as horses slid to a stop, shaking their heads and jingling tack. Horses cleared their nostrils, and soft "whoas" could be heard as everyone jostled, meeting in the middle. The wind quickly carried away the dust, the grass making swishing nois­es as the grit passed through it.

"How much farther up?" Arthur asked as their horses met.

"Another mile or so."

"Glad to see you are both in one piece." Lancelot smirked as he halted on the other side of Tris­tan. He nodded to Gawain. Gawain looked away, his hands clenched on the reins, his face set. Tristan raised his eyebrow and turned back to Arthur.

"Can't hog all the fun." Tristan replied dryly.

The wind was whipping through the trees now. The horses, stirred from the weather and the knowledge that they were headed to fight, shifted restlessly under the men. Arthur and Tristan talked quietly for another few moments. The rest of the group milled about, talking quietly, ad­justing tack, preparing to ride into battle.

Bors was already humming, Lancelot noticed, and Perceval was already twitching. He watched Galahad flip a green scale across his fingers, dismount, and walk his horse over to Gawain, who had done the same.

The brothers met and talked quietly. Galahad handed the scale to Gawain, who crushed it in his fist and nodded, eyes to the ground. Galahad then put a hand to his shoulder and they stood in silence.

Lancelot hoped that Gawain would let out some frustration on the Saxons. It would most defi­nitely help him. He watched as Gawain turned and tied the scale in Terryn's mane for Galahad, who watched silently. The brothers awkwardly embraced, Galahad saying something to him, Gawain nodding again.

It was good that they had decided to turn back. Galahad would have been beside himself other­wise. They needed no more heartache. The Gods knew Gawain could not have handled a repeat of whatever it was that had happened to him when he and Gareth were attacked.

Lancelot took the opportunity to relax and let Klyndd pick at some dried grass from the edge of the road, and the horse ambled away from the group as he foraged. They would most definitely be going into the camp and laying waste this day, but he was more interested in just going home.

He was tired, cranky and above all else, was missing Cerys. He hadn't gotten to spend very much time with her that morning before she was on to her day's chores. He scratched at his cheek un­der his helmet flap and undid the laces to reach it better. He had wanted to tell her all about the night. All he'd been able to get out before he was dragged off by Galahad was that Gawain had slept without dreaming.

Saxons could destroy even the most carefully laid out plans for laziness; he mused and chuckled to himself. Well, laziness would only last so long if she had kept kissing him the way she had in the stables. He shifted in the saddle and pushed the thoughts away.

He had to concentrate. They were about to ride into battle and all he could think of was making love to his bride to be.

Bors was right, he was moon-faced in love.

He liked it.

Truthfully he was glad that they had not had to go in and rescue Gawain and Tristan. He had made bets to himself that they would have charged in by themselves. He glanced up again at Tristan, who had found Perceval with his cuirass and helmet, and was now dressing. Gawain was hefting his own on, Galahad having brought it with him.

He shook his left arm and realized a vambrace buckle was coming undone, so he tied it back up. He smiled, thinking on how she had helped him dress. He enjoyed that. It made it easier for him to leave, somehow, knowing that she had been part of his ritual. He patted his cuirass and felt the lump that the linen made against his chest. Mint was emanating from it. She was with him and he felt content.

He did his cheek flaps back up and sighed. He clicked to Klyndd and they moved forward again to find out what the plan was.

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

The battle was quick, intense, and over before Lancelot had even had time to get into the famil­iar rhythm. He had barely even begun his dance of death.

There could be a good side to that. He felt, for the first time, no remorse, and no inkling that he did not know the man standing in his skin. It was new, this awareness. He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the breeze on his face.

Lancelot had felt the bloodlust rise in the group as they had rounded the corner. He saw the ban­ner flapping in the wind, and it was all they needed to spur into battle mode.

It had been Arthur to start the cry, his deep voice bellowing "RIIIIIIIIDE".

The knights had then ridden in screaming, weapons drawn and flashing in the afternoon sun, hooves pounding. Most of the Saxons met with a weapon to their heads. Only Bors, Lancelot and Gawain had dismounted into the fray. The rest had stayed mounted, the advantage to being able to take on more than one man at a time. Seven on forty were unfair odds, but on a horse, it was evened out just a bit.

Gawain had been unstoppable once he was on foot. He swung his mace back and forth, blood and brains spraying off of it after each hit, locks of hair stuck to the spikes floating as he moved it through the air to the next skull, the next face. He screamed the whole time, his own blonde hair flying. He hadn't bothered to put on his helmet.

He had been almost ferile in his screams. Lancelot knew where he was on the battlefield the en­tire time, and had caught his rage from the corner of his eyes as they had worked through the camp.

Gawain had killed ten men on his own steam, most of them, their faces unrecognizable when he finished whacking his mace into them.

Gawain was a man possessed by a memory that he needed to exorcise. Lancelot wondered, as he stood and regained his breath, if it had been enough to calm his friend.

Lancelot opened his eyes again, chest heaving, blood dripping off his swords, and he counted the kills around him. Only two or three, but they had been huge hairy brutes, and tough to fell.

Saxon trees. And he was a lumberjack.

He scoffed as the image of himself chopping down trees with Saxon hair for leaves came to him. His mind did strange things in the aftermath of battle. He shook his head to clear his thoughts. He flexed his shoulders. They would be stiff.

It had been a long winter.

The camp, they had been ready for the knights. They were already in minimal travel armour and gathered weapons, but were poor fighters. They had seemed different from a regular troop of Saxons, very unorthodox fighting style. They all carried British swords as well as their tradi­tional axes. It was strange, but not unthought-of of. Spoils of war were easy to re use, especially good Briton swords. They were hardy. Even a Saxon could appreciate craftsmanship, he sup­posed.

But now the swords would be back in Briton hands. Their hands. He smiled at that. He was start­ing to really think of this place as home.

Arthur had spared the Chief, who was now tied and lieing at his feet, Arthur's huge sword drawn and pointed to his chest, Tristan's sword loose and ready in his hand, his eyes never leaving the large blonde man. The man was writhing, screaming in his own language, beating his head against the earth as if possessed, his eyes rolling.

Lancelot saw in Tristan's eyes that he still felt the thrum of battle in his veins. He wanted des­perately to kill this one as well. Lancelot smiled. Tristan, despite his different actions of late, was still their bloodthirsty scout.

That, for the oddest reason, gave him comfort.

Lancelot groaned and made his way stiffly over to them, his senses and breath regained. He had taken a blunt blow from the side of an axe to the ribs. That was going to be a big bruise later. He also knew he was bleeding from his thigh, but it was minor.

"Injured?" Arthur asked as he neared his side. Lancelot shook his head, and Arthur nodded once, his eyes never leaving the chief.

The others gathered around. Lancelot looked for Gawain. Where was he?

"Where's Gawain?"

Galahad turned his head to look, pushing a blood-soaked strand of hair out of his face. "Dunno. Was at my side during the start of the fight, then he dismounted and I lost him."

The men looked about the camp then. Perceval stepped away to look behind tents, leaving bloody fingerprints on the doorways as he looked in.

"He's here." Perceval yelled into one. It had not sounded panicked, but there was urgency in it.

Galahad looked at Arthur, who jerked his head. "Go."

Galahad sprinted off towards Perceval's voice, Bors following him.

Lancelot sighed, bent over and wiped his swords clean on a dead Saxon's tunic. He inspected them quickly, then sheathed them.

"Heave him up." Arthur said as Tristan and Lancelot grabbed the chief and hoisted him to his feet. The man growled and spat in his own language, his nose bloody where he had beaten it into the ground repeatedly. His forehead was covered in mud, his eyes darting about.

"What is your business here Saxon? Why are you on our land?" Arthur asked as he stepped to­wards the man. The man snarled and bared his teeth. They were black stumps. Lancelot looked away.

Tristan too had turned his head at the smell of the man from behind. He hadn't bathed in months, and his hair was a mat of knots, parasites and twigs. Lancelot looked to two other men close to their feet. They too looked to have been well travelled and filthy. The whole camp gave the air of madness. Their armour was rusty and motley. These were not regular Saxons.

Arthur hadn't flinched, his jaw tense and his eyes flashing fire.

Tristan shook him and growled something out in their own language. The Saxon looked sur­prised for a moment then laughed. A laugh that almost bordered on madness. No... It was mad.

Lancelot wished he did not have to hold the man by his tunic. He wanted to let him go, the stench on him was making him gag.

"We live here, we hunt here. This is our land." He roughly spat in their language, his lips split­ting wider to reveal more rotted teeth. "We raid, we hunt. Britons make a tasty treat in winter."

"Hunting Britons?" Lancelot asked, his eyes narrowing.

The chief turned his head and licked at the blood flowing out of his nose onto his lip, smacking them together maniacally. He looked at Lancelot out of the corner of his eye for a moment and then a look of recognition seemed to come to him. He wriggled in their grasp.

"I remember you. We killed you."

Tristan and Arthur looked questioningly at Lancelot. Lancelot shrugged his shoulders as he let go of the man, who swayed but stayed upright from Tristan's grasp on his other arm. What in the names of the Gods had he meant by that? This man was indeed mad. He thought that Arthur should put him out of his misery and plunge his sword into his belly and be done with it.

"Killed me?"

"You were bigger..." He said as he stopped, then said something in his own language. He began laughing again, clearly lost in some memory. He rolled his head about, and bit his tongue. Blood drooled out his lips, gone slack.

Tristan flicked a glance to Arthur, who nodded. Tristan shoved the man to the ground again. Lancelot stepped back as the man put a hand on his boot and looked up at him, his eyes de­ranged.

"You are here to send me to Valhalla. You are here to reclaim your skin." He splattered blood and phlegm out of his mouth as he cackled, and continued on his own language. He looked up to Lancelot once more and reached for him.

"Valhalla..."

Lancelot stepped away as Arthur sheathed his sword. Tristan did the same. This man was no threat. He lay on the ground, gibbering in his own language, grasping at clods of earth with his fingers and stuffing the dead grass and roots into his mouth.

"What did he say?" Arthur asked Tristan as they moved away from the man to talk without the noise.

The chief was whimpering now, his hands covering his eyes. He had stepped beyond, into his own world.

Tristan cleared his throat and looked past both men, his eyes darting about, clearly upset. It took much to get Tristan to show discomfort or emotion, but Lancelot watched as Tristan fixed his eyes on the flapping banner in the middle of the camp, where the rest of the men had now gath­ered. They were pulling it down.

"He said you were dead, and they honoured you with your skin. He said..." Tristan swallowed, "It is too much of a coincidence. There's darkness at work here."

"Come on man, out with it." Arthur seethed through clenched teeth.

"He said that you fought them, years ago when he had been chief of thousands. You fought with magic armour..."

Tristan was silent a moment more. He looked right at Lancelot, and Lancelot felt the burning hatred in them right then. But it was not for him. It was for the mad man behind them, still flail­ing away and muttering. Lancelot grimaced and brushed a bloody hand over his face, streaking red on his cheeks.

"Magic armour..." Arthur began and then stopped, his own throat working as he looked to the banner, now on the ground. Gawain was on his knees in front of it, gazing dead-eyed, his hands listless to his sides. A look of realization came across Arthur's face.

"No." Arthur whispered.

"Green armour." Was all Tristan could manage before he had to turn away and put his hands on top of his head, swallowing to stop from being sick.

Lancelot felt his stomach seize, and almost as if Tristan had yelled it across the sky, Gawain began to scream.

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**Dear Reader:**

Ok. First part in a two parter for me to post. I was going to wait, but I am anxious to get your reactions to this turn of events. I really do want your thoughts when this plays out in the next chapter. I think it works, I like the chapters, and I enjoyed writing them. But, I know it could be a bit harsh.

On to the next chapter. Thank you for reading.

_Cardeia_


	53. The Right Thing To Do

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the character names, save my own original creations. I do not wish to be compensated for this work, nor do I wish to infringe on any copyrights held by any stakeholders of the movie King Arthur. This work is an original creation, based on the legend of King Arthur and his knights.

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**Warning: This chapter also contains darker material and ideas that some readers may find offensive. I apologize if I make anyone uncomfortable.**

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**Chapter 53: _The Right Thing To Do_**

Arthur reached the group just as Galahad and Bors dragged Gawain away from the banner and sat him on the ground facing away, each on an arm. Arthur looked down. Lancelot stopped, his own stomach heaving. He could go no further towards that... that thing on the ground.

His throat was working, trying to hold back the bile. Lancelot couldn't look at it. He already knew what it was and he began to shake, and felt his stomach roll.

These men were indeed mad. And for years... he couldn't even go there in his mind. He bit his lip and grimaced to stop the shaking. All those years, all the grieving, came right back to the surface. How had this happened? How was it possible? After all this time, and so close to when they had found him...

Lancelot crouched down and dry heaved, willing himself to keep his composure, one hand out to the ground to steady himself. He buried his fingers in the soft dirt. It was cool to the touch and he focused on it. It felt real.

This wasn't, it didn't feel real.

He steadied his breathing. It would do no good to panic or fly off the handle right now. But Gods, he wanted to... He wanted to run screaming and kill that Saxon. Hack him to bits and skin him like they had done...

He growled lowly, and dry heaved again, his jaw muscles popping with the effort.

Tristan quietly stood beside him, and hesitantly put out a hand, pulling it away as Lancelot straightened and pushed his fingers through his hair. Tristan swallowed and looked away.

This was hard for all of them, Lancelot thought as he took a moment to gather himself together. None of them had ever expected this. It was so strange that they would discover it now. He sup­posed that the troop, being small, would have been able to hide in the woods for years, moving from spot to spot without detection.

It wasn't impossible, but it was still very strange to have it come so close to Gawain finally be­ing overcome by memories of...

Of that, sitting over on the ground, not ten paces from him.

"This is very strange. It's as if..." Lancelot said quietly, then spat, wrinkling his face as he tasted bile. Tristan shook his head.

"It is done. We need to do the right thing now. Get yourself together." Tristan jerked his head back to where Gawain was. "He needs you to be. You can be your own madman later."

From behind them, Bors and Galahad were trying to subdue Gawain, struggling against their grip on his arms, sobbing and roaring.

"Let me go. Let me at him... Bastard... Savage..."

Bors looked up at Arthur who had finished his examination of the banner. Perceval could be heard around the corner of a tent retching. It had been too much for the younger knight. No one thought less of him for it. Gawain stopped struggling, seeming to give in. He slumped in their grasp, but they dared not let go.

Arthur glanced back at the Saxon chief and he began to pace. Arthur was measuring something in his head. Lancelot made his way over to Arthur and came right up to him, nose to nose so that they could talk quietly, stopping Arthur in his tracks.

He knew what Arthur was thinking. It was cold, and it was murder, but the circumstances were beyond their control now.

An eye for an eye... He remembered Cerys reading to him from one of Arthur's books about some Hammurabi leader in Mesopotamia thousands of years ago. That was one of their laws on a big stone tablet.

A life for a life.

"It would end his misery." Lancelot muttered, his eyes snapping. He unsheathed a sword and twisted the grip in his hand. He twitched and turned his gaze towards their captive.

"Gawain, that Saxon... or you?" Arthur replied, forcing Lancelot's eyes back to him. Arthur's eyes were hard, and searching Lancelot's face.

Lancelot gave him an exasperated look and ran his fingers up through his hair once more.

"Arthur..."

Arthur wrinkled his forehead and his gaze levelled. He had made up his mind. Lancelot could see the moment it happened, the hardness coming across his face like a curtain.

"No, if anyone, it is to be Gawain. You would do yourself no good with this."

Bors was still looking to Arthur, waiting. He knew as soon as they turned back to where the rest of the men were waiting, with Gawain.

Bors nodded, understanding, grimaced and stood, loosing Gawain from his grasp. Galahad saw the exchange and he looked away from the group, his eyes hard, and his disgust evident. He released his hold on Gawain and spun, walking away quickly. Galahad would want no part of this. He began the task of gathering up the horses.

Lancelot braced for what would happen next and sheathed his sword again. He undid the laces on his helmet and tore it off to give relief to the sweat pouring from his forehead.

Gawain looked up through his watering eyes at Arthur as Arthur stopped in front of him. Arthur unsheathed his sword, handing it hilt first to Gawain. Gawain got up from his seat and looked from Arthur to the sword.

Lancelot held his breath. He heard Tristan do the same. Bors went around the corner to find Per­ceval.

"Gawain" Arthur said quietly, motioning the hilt towards him.

Gawain slowly took the hilt of Arthur's sword in his hand, his eyes not leaving his commanders. He blinked, and Arthur put a hand to his shoulder. Lancelot watched the realization dawn on the knight's face.

The wind was tossing Gawain's hair about as he strode purposely forward to where the Saxon lay, the clouds flying across the sky, silhouetting him as he stood above the deranged man at his feet. He looked like a man possessed, then more than ever, his stillness even more frightening than his tortured screams.

This was the demon Gawain needed to confront. This was all the dreams, all the sleepless nights, all the screaming. All the sorrow. All wrapped up in this sorry excuse for a man, his mind noth­ing but mush.

He could end it all in one action.

The rest of the knights gathered together, hands on weapons. Perceval wiping his mouth, his own sword re-drawn. Bors pulled his hand-blades out and walked halfway between the knights and Gawain, at the ready.

"He has to do this or he will never find peace." Arthur said quietly to them as he wiped his arm across his brow, his own helmet dangling from his hand.

"Are you sure this won't just make it worse?" Lancelot muttered under his breath. Arthur's eyes told him that he didn't know, but it was the best they could do for him. It was a chance to let him kill his torment.

The men went silent, thinking about that and watching. It was one thing to kill a man in battle. It was another to kill a man for revenge, in cold blood. A helpless mad man, tied on the ground. They all knew this; it was part of their honour.

They had been trained to kill, but not this way. Lancelot flicked his glance to Tristan. Of all the knights, he would be the one who would find this the easiest. Tristan's face was unreadable, his hands clasped in front of him, standing at ease, simply watching, his chin tilted up.

He would have had no hesitation if it were him, Lancelot knew.

Lancelot also knew that even though he wished for revenge, Arthur was right. He would not have been able to. It would not have solved anything for him, he had said goodbye long ago to his own grief.

He reached up and touched his chest where Cerys' mint was. He held his hand there, willing control. Willing it to be over. He needed her right then. He wanted to bury himself in her hair and just make the rest of the world go away. For awhile, anyways.

He wished for peace right then so none of them would ever have to endure this again.

Ever.

They waited for Gawain to scream, hack at the man with abandon, lose his control. All they could hear was the wind through the trees circling the clearing, the sunken stream gurgling with spring runoff, birds crying in the air. From behind them they heard Galahad rounding up the horses.

Perceval coughed. The knights shifted.

Gawain just stood and stared at the man, gripping and re-gripping the sword in his hand, the tip pointed at the ground.

"Get up." He rasped.

The Saxons eyes had gone wide, he was trembling. He began to keen as he seemed to recognize Gawain, or at least Gawain's intention.

"Get up."

"You are the lion! You died, you roared..." The Saxon screamed, then began gibbering and hit­ting his head once more on the ground.

Lancelot moved forward and Arthur put an arm out across his chest.

"I know. I'm sorry."

Lancelot ground his teeth together and stopped. Arthur understood that Lancelot felt just as strong a need. But this was Gawain's battle. The real one. Their slaughter of the rest of the camp had been child's play compared to this.

Gawain roughly pulled the Saxon up by his hair, bringing his own face down.

"I'll ask you one more time...Get up and fight me."

The chief babbled nonsense and rolled his eyes. More blood and drool dribbled out of his mouth.

Gawain let go of his hair and let the Saxon flop back to the ground. The whole group watched him take a deep breath in and his face harden more. He paced in a small circle around the man, screaming at him, telling him to get up and fight, calling him names, spitting on him. He kicked him, the man only grunted.

It was no use; the chief was not capable of fighting. He was not capable of anything right then. He had gone into his own mind completely.

Gawain stopped in front of the chief. He hefted the sword above his head, his arms taut with the effort, the blade glinting what light there was. Lancelot could see a tremor in his arms as he held it a moment, looking down on him. They could see him mouth something, but they couldn't hear it.

"Gods..." Perceval whispered, covering his mouth.

Lancelot closed his eyes as Gawain let out a scream that spooked the horses and turned Gala­had's head. In one motion, he cleaved the Saxon's head from his body, burying the sword in the dirt from the force. The corpse twitched and went still.

It was done.

Gawain let Arthur's sword from his grip, it quivered in place where he left it. He turned empty eyes to the men, and fell on his knees, sobbing, his hands upturned.

"Gareth... I'm sorry..." He whispered before he fell to the ground completely, the men running towards him.

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Lancelot had allowed no one to help gather up Gareth's remains and fold him into a cloak. Just like when they found his bones and his armour strung up in the tree, he set to work gathering his cousin up, once piece at a time, after Gawain had cut what remained down.

This time, there was only one piece.

He had mustered his courage once Gawain was subdued, and walked over to the banner, lying on the ground. The others had given him peace for a few moments, turning to gather their horses from Galahad, Galahad gathering up his brother.

As he had finally gazed at it, he saw, and he remembered.

There, faded and stretched on one corner, was the Roman cavalry tattoo that all the men had been given when they entered service. All seven of them had one on their right shoulder, each with their own number. The first part of the number was the batallion number, the second their entry rank, the third was their identifying numeral. Only Arthur had a Centurion symbol above his, granted when he became commander.

It was Gareth. One number higher than Lancelot. There was no mistaking it, and Gawain had known it the moment he saw the banner.

Lancelot had retched twice while he worked. The skin was dry and cracked, the red paint of the symbol staining it, the stitching criss-crossing the breadth popping as he worked. His hands shook, and flakes came off as he undid the sinew holding it to the wood frame. He had, however, refused to cry. Not yet.

He had to look away as he folded up the arms into the cloak. Gareth's hands. They had been so wide compared to his own.

Gareth used to tease him and tell him he had women's fingers, when they were young.

Arthur had stood sentry, his back to Lancelot, while he had finished the gruesome task. It made a small package, and would fit strapped to the front of Klyndd's saddle.

He rose. Arthur turned at his noise and put a hand out to Lancelot to steady him. Lancelot was bone-weary and he leaned on Arthur for a moment. They walked side by side to Klyndd, and Lancelot tied the cloak to the saddle. He fumbled with the laces, and Arthur's larger hands came out and finished the job.

Lancelot let his hands fall listlessly to his side. He looked to the ground. He wanted to go home.

He wanted Cerys. He didn't know if he could tell her of this, if it would be too much. But he knew she would help him right now, more than anyone else could.

They stood without talking, the sounds of Ganis and his men around them tearing the camp and building pyres to burn the bodies. They would work until nightfall gathering up what they could, setting the fires. The tents with all the grease on them would be perfect tinder. They were so old, they were of no use to them to bring back. After a few coats of grease to keep out weather, tents would begin to rot anyways.

It was lucky they had come so soon. Lancelot had no desire to stay any longer than he had to here.

They both looked up as Gawain stopped in front of Lancelot. The two men looked at each other for a moment. Arthur discreetly backed away, letting them be.

"He was..." Gawain started, his voice hoarse, barely above a whisper.

"I know."

"It's not right..."

"I know that too."

Gawain swallowed and looked away. He tore his eyes back to Lancelot, who was leaning on his horse. Lancelot put his hand out this time, catching Gawain's shoulder.

"It was the right thing to do, but I'm sorry."

Gawain only grimaced. His eyes questioned Lancelot's statement. Was it truly? They asked. Lancelot shook his head. He didn't know. Grief had taken over his mind. He could not see things so clearly right then.

Gawain ran a hand down his face and groaned softly. He was hurting. Lancelot could feel it echoing off of him.

Lancelot pulled Gawain into a light embrace. Gawain bent his forehead to Lancelot's shoulder.

Lancelot let Gawain cry.

It was over.

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**Dear Reader:**

Ok, let me have it! Good, bad, freaky, gruesome? I hope that I was able to give the emotion behind the discovery, and in a way, show Gawain's real battle. Also Lancelot's! Gareth was his cousin, after-all. For all the men this is hard. Something like this owuld break even the most cold of men, as we see in Tristan.

Cerys is going to have her hands full when they get home, eh?

Again, thank you for reading. I am always humbled by the responses I get from this story. I routinely get a happy feeling growing from the pit of my stomach when I read reviews that tell me how this story has made you feel, helped you remember, helped inspire you.

I love inspiring, I love helping people learn about themselves and get to know themselves better. It helps me be better, and to write better.

May all of your happy feelings allow you to write better stories, and help others this way.

_Cardeia_


	54. Bravery and Comfort

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the character names, save my own original creations. I do not wish to be compensated for this work, nor do I wish to infringe on any copyrights held by any stakeholders of the movie King Arthur. This work is an original creation, based on the legend of King Arthur and his knights.

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**Scribe Notes:**

_All:_ I am so glad that the last two chapters were not as horrid as I thought they would be. I wasn't sure if Gareth becoming the banner would be too much and I am glad it wasn't. In fact, thinking a bit, it would have been a great honour, since the Saxons would only do "that" with adversaries they thought worthy. Gareth must;ve been a green devil (grin)

On to comments:

_Calliann:_ You are welcome. I am moved that you cried for Gawain. These chapters were exhilirating to write, the emotion pouring out of them made me realize that I could put it on paper, I am capable. Very empowering these chapters were. these two are also quite emotional, but more on a closure level. I hope you enjoy!

_Melosine:_ War is horrid, and back then it was brutal and ugly and messy. Could you imagine the stink on the battlefield. Then the disease, and the superstition. It's no wonder there was so much mental illness , from what records there are from back then tell us.

Thank you so much for your review. I am glad I made your breath stop as you waited to see how Gawain would end the chiefs life. I didthe same as I wrote it! (grin)

_drew'sgirl:_ Hi! Good to see your name in the review box again. Have a great vacation. I am touched that you cried when reading these chapters.

_ElvenStar5:_ Hey, glad I could surprise you with that. Thanks very much for your enthusiasm! Here are two more for you, I hope they work well for you.

_Babaksmiles:_ Have a great vacation! I too feel relief that we can now begin to heal Gawain, and move on. Who knew tieing up loose plot threads in a story could take me in a whole 'nother side plot? It's fun, I tell you what...

_Sokorra Lewis:_ yeah it will be interesting to see how it manifests. Hopefully the next two chapters I am posting will help. So glad you liked them and that you didn't expect the twist!

_Ailis-70:_ I had a migrain on thursday as well. I hate them. I am glad you liked the last two chapters, they were fun, despite the heartache, tow rite. I think sometimes I get into these "zen" states where when I write its very fulfilling and I like what comes out so much more. I wish they happened every day.

I wanted to give him a chance to "kill" his dreams along with the chief. I just hope it works. I haven't got that part written yet. I think it will. Now to get him happy again! (wink)

_lilstrummrgrl527:_ You bet! He does fight with agression that is very primal. That is why I chose him for the nightmares. I am touched that you cried, and felt their pain. It means much to me that you are able to see that in the way I wrote them. And did you catch that the chief called him a lion? that part was for you (grin).

_gwenn0:_ I never did either, but that is how society started, and I thought it would be fun to throw in that he learns from Cerys and its starting to shape his thoughts! I figured it would be history to them, since Mesopotamia was ancient to them even in the 500's., so lets throw it in. I did that before with the story of Joesph and his colourful cloak. That owuld have been before their time, there would have been writings on it even then. Brinn would have liked that story so I put it in. (grin)

Here are a couple more chapters, that show more emotion, but I hope they work for the two of them, based on what you said about learning off each other.

I didn't misunderstand your last thoughts on her. Its great! She's becoming the medieval version of a liberated and confident woman! She can enjoy sex and she does. Woo! and yes, they are learning from each other in that sense and its making them both better people.

Petpoor: I think she should. (grin) I am glad you thought Gawain's closure was handled properly. thanks so much for reading! Here are two more for you!

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**Chapter 54: _Bravery and Comfort_**

The breeze blew stiffly across the top of the battlements, as Cerys and Dory stood and watched the knights riding home. It was close to dark, the sun was setting behind them, casting its pink and orange glow across the horizon, like a distant fire. From where she was, she watched the outlines of the procession move slowly along the wall towards the entrance to the fort. She couldn't hear anything but the breeze through the trees and the snapping of the pennants from the turret to her right.

They were barely making any noise as they proceeded. Normally by now they would be laugh­ing, joking amongst each other, punctuated by the jingling of tack and snorting of horses, tired from a gallop. Their relief at being home would have echoed up to her by now.

She should have been able to at least hear Bors.

Something wasn't right.

Three of the horses were empty, all lead by one man. It was dark enough that Cerys couldn't see who it was. Her heart was beating, and her hand was clenched to Dory's arm.

"I can't see who it is." She whispered.

Dory peered out as best she could. "I think I see Arthur, beside him his Bors... and... there is Perceval, I recognize his helmet...but..."

Cerys could bear it no more. She flew down the stairs and towards the stables, intent on meeting the men. As she passed the kitchens, she called to Nimli.

"They re home!"

Nimli stuck her head out, and waved, her face pink from standing over the stove.

"Alright, be there in a moment!" She called.

The knights filed into the stable yard, alight with torches. Cerys could not see Lancelot, and her heart stopped. Where was he? She made her way directly to Arthur.

The men looked tired beyond what they should be, staggering in, dragging tired feet. She count­ed the horses in the dim lighting.

Six horses, four men.

"Arthur?" She asked quietly. She touched his arm. Arthur handed Meritas to Jols and turned to her. In the firelight, she could see the blood splashes across his armour, the lines of worry on his face. He caught her eyes and she saw pain. Hard, raw pain. He reached out and held her shoulder a moment, then pulled his hand away.

It made her breath hitch. Someone had died. She began to look about, panic rising in her. Where was Lancelot? She still couldn't see him amongst the horses and the men. Brinn had arrived and was taking Klyndd into the stables, Galahad talking to him quietly as they walked.

"Lancelot... Lancelot!" She screamed then, dodging through the horses. Where was he? Oh Gods... please... let him be behind his horse. Let him be alright...

"He's at the cemetery with Gawain, love." Bors said softly, catching her by the arm. "We are going back in a moment."

Cerys stifled a sob. The cemetery? What had happened? She looked wildly about once more.

"What do you mean?" She said, wrestling from his grasp, turning and facing him, her eyes wide, her hands beginning to shake.

"Cerys..." Arthur said as he reached her side again, holding out a hand. "It's alright..."

"NO!" She screamed, stepping away from him. "No..."

Galahad re-appeared from the stable, Perceval just ahead of him.

Perceval strode over to the group around her, looking angrily at Bors. Cerys looked from one face to the next. Why wasn't anyone saying anything? He mind was whirling, her stomach heav­ing. Was he dead? Was Gawain dead? She stood in place and turned, searching for him in the now empty stable yard.

"Where is he?" She croaked, tears falling down her face. She folded her arms across her stom­ach. No.. This was not happening. He had just fallen behind; he had stopped before he got to the stable... He was waiting for her in their rooms...

Arthur held out his hand "Cerys please, he's f..."

Perceval interrupted him. "Bloody Hells Bors, you just made her think he was dead." He growled, stepping in front of her. He bent his knees to see into her eyes, and held out his hands to her shoulders to steady her. She stopped and looked at him, biting her lip, her whole body now shaking with sobs.

"He's not dead, Cerys. He and Gawain are there to bury Gareth. Tristan continued his run to the coast."

Cerys collapsed against him, the relief almost too much to handle. "I thought... he wasn't...Ga­reth?"

Perceval handed her wordlessly off to Arthur, a look passing between them. Arthur wrapped his arms around her and rocked her, whispering quiet words to her. Perceval slapped Bors up the back of the head, and the two walked off back towards the kitchens, muttering to each other un­der their breath.

Galahad all but fell into Dory's outstretched arms as she reached him, her own face streaked with tears.

"Gareth is home now Dory. He's home."

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Brinn arrived back at the stables carrying a sword from his rooms and some travel lanterns. Galahad had asked him to bring them to the stable yard.

Why on earth were they going back out to the cemetery at this time of night? It made no sense, but, Galahad was really not in the mood to ask questions to, so he just did as he was bidden.

He saw Cerys visibly upset, and he noticed that Lancelot had not joined them yet. Where was he? He was worried now. No one looked very happy. A small panic began to rise in him. What if he was the reason they were going back? He couldn't be dead; he was too good a warrior.

"Galahad? I've brought the sword." He said hesitantly, handing it to Galahad, who was talking quietly with Dory. Dory looked down at Brinn as he reached their side, her face white and pale, her lips quivering.

"Thank you. Can you help me again?" Galahad asked as he strung the scabbard across his shoul­der. "I need you to bring the women up with you to the cemetery."

Brinn nodded. This was especially strange. He stood for a moment more, looking around, and then back to Galahad. He shifted his feet. He should ask, but would he be thought of as less brave? He didn't want to cry in front of the knights, and he could feel his eyes stinging. He blinked, and took a deep breath in, squaring his shoulders, his fists tight around the handles on the lanterns.

He could be brave in the face of bad news. He was going to be a knight. He set the lanterns down and folded his arms across his chest.

Knights did not cry.

"He's fine Brinn, he stayed back with Gawain." Galahad answered before Brinn could ask.

Brinn let out a huge sigh and turned away to begin the task of finding Lorina. She would help him find the rest of the women.

He felt tears trickle over his cheeks as he ran towards the common. He wasn't sad, no... These weren't sad tears. He was overjoyed that the man he thought of as a father was safe.

He hoped, albeit briefly, that these types of tears wouldn't be considered cowardly, once he was a knight.

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Lancelot watched the lanterns bob and weave through the cemetery as they came closer to where he and Gawain stood in the growing darkness. Gawain was sweating through his armour; he and Lancelot had dug a small hole with his axe and bare hands. Lancelot had long ago stripped his off, and was standing bare-chested, sweat mixed with dirt.

Every bone in his body hurt, every muscle was screaming. He adjusted the bandage across his thigh and sighed. It was going to be a long night. He wanted to sleep. He groped through his pile of armour beside him and found his water skin and took a huge swig. It was slightly warm from being against Klyndd on the way back, but it was wet, and that was more important right then.

"Gawain." Lancelot said quietly, "Water."

Gawain took it wordlessly and slugged back, some dribbling down his beard, dripping off onto his cuirass. It left streaks down the chest, cleaning off the blood where it ran. Lancelot was sure they both looked like hell. He felt the blood caked across his thigh crack as he moved.

He didn't want Cerys to see him like this, but he was aching to hold her, see her face.

The lanterns had reached them by now. Arthur stopped, and Perceval, Bors, and Galahad ar­ranged themselves by the hole. Jols came a moment later, Hywel lock-stepped with him.

All faces were sombre, all thoughts directed towards the small bundle placed directly beside Gareth's original marker in the cemetery. Lancelot swallowed as Galahad brought Gareth's sword over and placed it in Gawain's hands. Gawain looked at it a moment.

"I can't. He's your cousin Lancelot." He said as he handed it over to Lancelot.

Lancelot pulled the sword out of its scabbard. He looked to where they had placed Gareth's hel­met all those years ago, when they had marked his place with their companions, long dead. There had been no remains before. Now the helmet stood sentry over a small hole, in which they would place...

It wasn't fair, he thought briefly. Gareth deserved so much more than this. They all did. At that thought he looked up and scanned what he could see of the rest of the cemetery. It was sad, and decrepit, and he hated it here. But... they needed to honour him somehow.

His eyes caught another set of lanterns weaving their way. He saw Brinn's face outlined as they neared. He saw Guinevere holding her skirts as she stepped her way through the maze, and Lo­rina and Dory arm in arm. He saw Nimli gravely holding another lantern, her eyes downcast as she held the hand of...

Cerys. Gods, there she was. He felt relief wash over him. Never, he thought, was he so glad to see her. He handed the sword back to Gawain for a moment and stepped away from the circle of men to meet the second group.

"Brinn." He greeted the young boy. Brinn stopped in front of him.

Brinn looked worried as well, his small face showing determination not to look upset. He looked up to Lancelot. Lancelot saw that his eyes were close to tears.

"I..."Brinn started, then swallowed and blinked rapidly.

Brave boy, Lancelot thought. He must've thought the worst when Lancelot didn't come back with the group. Hebent down to look him in the eye.

"It's alright." He felt a pang in his heart. This young man was more to him than a squire, perhaps he had been for awhile.

It was funny how grief could bring those closest to you into such a focus, that you would realize things about them you had never thought of before.

Brinn nodded, trying very hard to be a young man. Lancelot opened up his arms and Brinn shot into them. Guinevere picked the lantern out of Brinn's hand as she passed.

Lancelot felt another set of arms go around him, and lips come to his temple.

"Love, you had me so worried." She whispered into his ear, her voice wavering.

He cursed his decision to not come back to the fort before coming out here. She must have been beside herself, not seeing him with the horses. He felt her shake slightly, and he knew she had been scared. He grimaced and berated himself. He should have known better.

Lancelot rescued one arm out from around Brinn and enfolded her shoulders to him. The three stayed that way for a moment, not moving, not talking.

He moved his head so that he could rest his forehead to hers. Their eyes regarded one another then.

"I'm here now." He said quietly. "I'm sorry I scared you."

Two sets of arms squeezed him tighter as he said it.

* * *

**Dear Reader:**

The moments in between when you are panicked about someone and then realizing they are fine. I thought of all the people who could not get through to loved ones on cell phones after the bombings this week in London, and as well, in the Trade Centre attacks. What was it like until they heard the voice on the other end saying "I am alright". I tried to think of that panic then relief as I wrote this, the overwhelming mixture of the two.

I am very, very, very lucky to live where I do. I look out my window and the maple leaves are glinting in the afternoon sun, waving slightly in the warm July breeze. I see them, and I think of my country, and how safe we are here, relative to other places.

I think I may pop out and put a Canadian flag on my car's bumper.

_Cardeia_


	55. Grief Washed Away

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the character names, save my own original creations. I do not wish to be compensated for this work, nor do I wish to infringe on any copyrights held by any stakeholders of the movie King Arthur. This work is an original creation, based on the legend of King Arthur and his knights.

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**Chapter 55: _Grief Washed Away_**

Cerys flopped down onto the bed as they entered the room, her feet dangling off the edge. After they had buried the small bundle and Arthur had said a few words, they had dispersed. Lancelot had walked back with her and Brinn and told them that Gareth was now home to rest, and how they had found him.

It was good that Gawain and Lancelot together had both struck the sword to earth in front of his final resting place.

She felt that he was hesitant when he spoke of their battle and the realization of the banner, but didn't tell her all of it. She could see how haunted Gawain was, and she saw the pain in Arthur. Something else had happened while they were out, and it had pained Arthur deeply.

No matter. When he was ready to speak of it he would. She knew better than to pry. It was bad enough how they had come upon what remained of their companion. She felt disgusted, but somehow, it was tempered with relief. They knew now. All they needed to fill in the gaps was Gawain's memories. She wondered if he would share them now that this had happened.

She looked up to Lancelot, who was stripping out of his clothes in the corner, the sodden trews making a plopping noise as he flung them at the wall. They were ruined to wear as leggings again. Cerys reminded herself to bring them up to the laundry to scrub the leather clean. They could re-use them to make glove palms for the men, and perhaps even patch some of the children's shoes.

He made his way to the chair by the fire and looked pensively into the dieing embers as he set­tled. It was a warmer evening, but he shivered.

Cerys got up and walked over to him. He sat, naked, his arms propped on its arms, his legs out­stretched. He was filthy, he smelled, and she could see a gash on his thigh. He was also so tired she wondered how he didn't immediately drop into sleep.

"That needs stitches." She pointed to his leg. "You want me to get Dafydd, or can I do it?"

Lancelot looked up at her, nodding. He hadn't said much after they had said goodnight to Brinn. He had gone, in fact, completely quiet, his face set. She grimaced.

"Well, which?"

He sighed. "Get Dafydd."

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Once Dafydd had finished with his leg, and had pushed a pot of arnica into Cerys' hands, he made to leave quietly. He had already seen to Arthur, who had cut his shoulder. Arthur had filled him in on what happened.

"He may need a few days to recuperate from this." Dafydd murmured as Cerys showed him to the door.

"I know. I don't know all the details of what happened, but I know that this is not going to be easy for him. My concern is more for..." She replied, raising her hand, looking at Dafydd.

He nodded. "Galahad is with him. They will take turns watching him."

Cerys was relieved at that. "Thank you Dafydd." she said as he ducked out the door. He nodded and stepped away down the portico. Bors needed tending now, and it was the next stop.

Cerys went to the well and brought in a pail of water. Once the fire was roaring, she set it to warm. She pulled a cushion over to sit near him, and bent her head to his knee. His hand came out to her head.

"Love?" She said quietly.

He made a noise to let her know he was listening. She looked up quickly to see his head back on the chair, his eyes closed, his face now relaxed. She was glad for that, if nothing else.

Crumbs from a quick meal of bread and cheese she had fetched while he was being stitched pep­pered his stomach and thighs. She smiled at the memory of how he had wolfed it down, and put her head back to his knee and stared into the fire.

"Will Gawain be alright now?"

A huge sigh echoed out of him. He stroked the top of her head a couple of times, and slowly opened his eyes.

"I don't know." He said, his voice gravelly.

After a few moments of quiet, she got up and brought over the water. She proceeded to bathe him, and he let her. Normally he would have been ticklish, and would want to do it himself, but she insisted, and he grimaced as she washed him. She felt a bit playful, wanting to lighten his mood, so she purposely lightened her strokes. She watched his skin twitch as she grazed his low­er abdomen. She traced scars with her other hand as she washed.

"Woman, you have the unnerving ability to use the lightest touch in the areas you shouldn't" He said through clenched teeth.

She giggled. "You, Sir, need to relax."

A hand came out and stopped her. "Enough."

She handed him the rag and he finished the job himself. She went and found a wool blanket for him to dry with, and he dunked his head in the water to wash his hair.

Once he had again found his way into the chair, she dried his hair. He sat back and looked up as she tousled his curls through her fingers, combing them through.

"Are you quite through primping me like a woman?" He grumped.

She laughed quietly as she crouched at his side, plastering arnica on his bruise. He kissed her, nipping her earlobe as she finished, wincing as he leaned over to do so. Cerys sighed. He could undo her just with his body, but she needed to be mindful of his injuries this night. She packed away the desire in her abdomen for a later time. She stood and wiggled a finger at him silently.

He smiled and leaned back again, closing his eyes.

The bruise had wound its way around his side, and was a deep shade of purple. No ribs were broken, but he would be too sore to ride for a day or two much less get up and down without effort. It was huge. She would have to ask him what had caused it.

She wasn't sure, however, if she wanted to know. Pictures in her mind of huge and dangerous weapons swinging at him made her blink and she shook them away. Some parts of her were still the worried woman, the one who would feel the knot in her back when they rode out the gate. That part would never leave her, but now she knew how to deal with it better, instead of blanking her mind to all but work.

Thank the Gods he had good armour.

She put the pot back on the water table and washed her hands in the pail, the water now filthy from his bathing.

Lancelot rose from the chair a few moments later and made his way stiffly to the bed. He sat down and ran his hands over his face, the dark circles under his eyes shining. His entire body showed exhaustion.

A night sleeping on the floor in front of Gawain, then a full day of riding, plus battle. It was much for any man to handle. She knew he would need a day or two of sleep and quiet rest before he would be back to normal. Would he allow himself that? She knew he had not really talked much about what happened other than to fill her in. She was worried this turn of events would...

Nonsense, she told herself. He had told her only last night that she was what he needed. She relaxed and remembered his words. She would try her best to just be there, be what he needed, whatever it was.

"I could sleep for a fortnight." He mumbled as he tilted over onto his side and pulled his legs up, wincing again at the stiffness of his thigh.

Cerys pulled the bedding up and over his legs. He looked up to her under his heavy eyes.

"Join me?"

She nodded and went to undress. Once under the bedding, she lay against him, mindful of his bruise and his thigh. His head found its way to her breastbone and he curled up beside her.

Her hand played with his hair absently as she stared up at the roof.

Suddenly she felt wetness on her shoulder. She turned her head and saw Lancelot silently weep­ing. His eyes were closed, tears falling out between the lashes to run down onto her skin.

"Love..." she whispered.

He held her tighter and she heard a soft sob escape him. She shifted up on an elbow; he sat up, frustration on his face. Her hand came to his face, wiping away tears.

"I'm sorry for all of this. This is not your fight, it's..." He rasped hoarsely.

"It's alright." She said as she sat up and pulled herself up to straddle his lap, folding him against her with both her legs and hands. She held him tightly as he began to cry openly, his forehead on her shoulder. She stroked his hair, rubbed his shoulders, rocked him ever so slightly.

How many times had she done this for Arthur? Held him and comforted him, let him cry. Now, she could do the same for him. She kissed the top of his head, she murmured comforts to him. So much pain. It was not fair that they had to deal with this over again, fresh, as if it never hap­pened all those years ago.

She held him like that for some time, his arms holding her tightly, weeping like a child. She eventaully shed tears as well, feeling his sadness, his pain.

He looked up to her as he began to dry his eyes; his lips thinned together, his eyes swirling with pain and red-rimmed.

"I do not deserve you, this comfort." He said quietly. "You give so much, what do I have for you in return?"

She ran a thumb across his cheek.

"You are my strength. Through you, I am a better woman."

He shook his head. "How can I do this when I don't know what will become of me in the next day, the next battle...My world brings uncertainty."

She smiled and climbed off his lap to lay beside him, pulling the covers back over her. He lay back down on his side and gazed at her.

"Lancelot... No matter what happens, we are together here..." She pulled his hand up and brought it to her heart "And here." She touched his forehead.

He nodded then, his eyes downcast. "I still do not know what it is that I can give you."

She pushed him down on his back, and leaned over him, their eyes locked. What could she say? She saw his questions in his eyes. She knew he worried about what would happen if indeed he did not come home. She put a hand on his chest, and softly kissed him.

"Your love." She replied with soft determination. "Is what gives me everything I could ever need."

Lancelot closed his eyes, and Cerys could see a wave of emotion pass over his face. They held each other then, Cerys listening to him finally drift off into much needed sleep.

She hoped that her love would be what he needed now, and that he would be alright.

She kissed his forehead. She would make sure of it.

* * *

**Dear Reader:**

It's Lancelot's turn to be comforted and reassured that he is enough for her! She knows that she will be enough for him when he is grieving, and now he is reassured by her that she finds what she needs in him!

And the circle is complete and they are at a deeper level of understanding than they ever were before. Friendship turns to love (after some speculation), then to partnership. All that is left is the ceremony so that Perceval can get drunk and cause trouble (grin). And our love story is almost complete!

It's now time to get outside in the evening air and go for a gallop on my horse. Cheers to having the chance to do what you love on your weekend, with the ones you love doing it with!

_Cardeia_


	56. New Faces

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the character names, save my own original creations. I do not wish to be compensated for this work, nor do I wish to infringe on any copyrights held by any stakeholders of the movie King Arthur. This work is an original creation, based on the legend of King Arthur and his knights.

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**Scribe Notes:**

_All:_ When I read some of the reviews I got for these past two chapters I had happy tears. I can see the end of this story now, and its exciting, and sad at the same time. Thank you for believing in my characters human-ness as I do, and understanding them the way you do.

_Sarita04:_ I missed you last time! Thank you for your review! I am glad you likedthe symbolism and the way it worked for Gawain.

_ElvenStar5:_ Thanks! Its hard to feel emotions you have never felt, but I try to imagine based on what I saw. It makes me happy to know I did manage to portray the emotions to show what I wanted. I am growing as a writer, I think. You help with your reviews, helps me to know I am going in the right direction. Yahoo!

_Calliann:_ Hey! So glad you liked them coming together as a family. You will like a bit in this chapter too then (wink). Despite the sadness in the chapters, it was interesting to write that, knowing how each of them feels about their role (Cerys as mom, Brinn thinking Lancelot is dad, Lancelot sort of understanding that Brinn may be like a son).

It is satisfying for me to write that, it brings happiness in a sad part of the story, when they bury Gareth. Grief brings emotions out, but also brings people together. In these times, we remember what is most important, and sometimes that leads to new beginnings, all the while celebrating an end of something else.

_Melosine:_ I was wondering if anyone would catch that "Cerys-ism". Glad it was you! I am really happy you liked the emotions in the chapter. This one is a bit lighter, to balance it out. I think I caught my Tristan in his new-found world well, it felt right, but you never know. I rely on my Tristan experts Calliann, Ailis-70 and you to tell me otherwise, you know. (grin).

_Ailis-70:_ I think you are a wonderful reviewer as well. You prompt me, poke me and nudge me towards new and exciting ideas, to reflect on old ideas, to think about the deeper meaning behind my story. I sometimes just write a story, I don't purposely put things in to make people think. its after the fact that I look back and go "Hey! Wow... cool.. never thought of it that way." You are one of the people that puts it out there for me to see.

Thank you for that.

Yes, Brinn is growing a bit, and I tried to give him a bit more maturity, but at the same time hold onto the noble beliefs that knights are all-seeing, all-strong and invincible. That is important, since it is why he wants to be a knight. He wants to be the strong and noble knight to take care of those he loves, and be able to take care of himself.

_plzkthx101_:Gawain. He's an interesting one. I saw such bitterness in him in the movie that he really cried out to be a wounded mind here. I have another story started, and this time, no woundings, he takes on a different role. Dust Devils is still in evolution, but rest assured, he is there, and he is happier. And yes, he has long hair, I couldn't take that away from him if I tried.

Thank you for your insightful words. I am so very glad you can see emotion and human nature in my characters. It means I have succeeded on some level! That, above all else, gives me courage to keep going.

Agony and pain is how we understand what health and happiness is. When we hurt, it is hard, but when it is over, it helps us to become better people.

_lilstrumrgrl527:_ Thank you. The procession scene was crystal clear in my mind, and it wrote itself so easily. I could see the lanterns bobbing and weaving, the bodies outlined by them as they walked. I could almost heaer the silence of the men, the sad faces on the women. Some of the women didn't know Gareth, but they feel the pain of their men and that is enough to cause grief of their own.

_Sokorra Lewis:_ I'm sorry for your loss, and I hope that the happy memories of your friends brings a smile to your face as you honour them. Memories are our legacy, and it is important to think back to them in order to help grieve and heal.

_gwenn0:_He started out as an extra, but I always wanted to develop his relationship to Lancelot. He was originally goingot be one of Bors' children, but then I changed my mind when I realized that Cerys needed someone, and Lancelot was away. He fit the bill perfectly.

Lancelot would be a ladie's man, and a brilliant one at that. But, he would probably be one of those guys who, once they found their girl, it would be passionate and happy. In Dust Devils, he is more of what I think he would be if in our own age. I hope that I don't sneak too much of Ioan into him, and he stays Lancelot. It's on my "mantra" sheet posted on the wall in my room. I keep a set of them for each story to remember. For this one it was "Do not use the word "OK", and always say "Gods", not "God". (grin) I am an orgainzational freak, so whenever I start a new story I keep a list of all characters, their associated animals, and pairings if any. then, I keep all writing that gets cut. Oi, I even scare myself sometimes (Big Grin)

On to the chapter! Thanks to everyone!

* * *

**Chapter 56: _New Faces_**

"Rider's approaching!" The gate guard yelled.

Arthur looked up from fiddling with a new set of vambraces he was trying out in the armoury. He glanced at the late afternoon sun. Ahh, it was about time. He was due back now. And he had done what he said he was going to do. He strode out of the armoury practice field, Lancelot on his heel, dropping his swords near his scabbards as they left. Both of them were stiff, but despite each of their women's pleadings, they were in the armoury to work.

Lancelot figured they were both stubborn fools, but they needed to do something to keep their minds occupied. He planned on spending the afternoon in the shop with Hywel.

"Riders" Arthur said, a bemused grin on his face as they locked steps towards the stable.

Lancelot raised an eyebrow. "You know something I don't?"

Arthur chuckled. "Think about it. Rider-S." He said, emphasising the S in the word.

Lancelot looked confused for a moment and then it dawned on him. Tristan was due back now and he had taken Cei with him.

"No kidding." He said slowly as they rounded the corner. They could hear the inner compound doors scrape open as they got to the stable yard. Jols had come out, wiping his hands on a rag, Brinn right behind him, his face smudged with dirt. They both looked to Arthur.

"Riders, Arthur?" He queried, a smile on his face. Arthur nodded to him.

"Brinn, see about getting Cei and Sky's stalls topped with some water, eh?" Jols said as he turned to the young boy. Brinn nodded and dashed off, but not before nodding to Lancelot and giving him a grin.

"Does he know too?" Lancelot asked, propping himself on the hitching post out front of the doorway.

"It would be hard not to figure it out, when he took a ladies mount instead of Prynawn." Arthur replied, he too leaning to mirror Lancelot's posture. They looked at each other and began to laugh. Arthur slapped Lancelot's shoulder.

"Won't matter for much now, will it?" Lancelot said through his laughter, his grin wide. He was happy for Tristan. It was about bloody time. She would be here for the Spring Equinox festivi­ties, and he would be able to have Cerys back as a dance partner.

He realized that the Spring Equinox was his wedding. He had better have her back to dance with! He sighed at his own ridiculousness.

"I hope the women like her." Arthur said.

Lancelot stopped and listened, holding up his hand. He could hear more than two horses. There was a wagon with them. What did she do, bring her whole hut with her? He turned to Arthur, whose face told him he heard the wheels on the gravel as well.

"A wagon?" Jols said, his own face confused. He turned to trot back into the stables. "Brinn, ready the extra stall in the corner would you..."

The group rounded the corner by the kitchens, some children running behind a simple twig sided wagon, pulled one of the oldest moor ponies Lancelot had ever seen. He blinked. Behind the wagon Cei was trailing along, her reins tied to the back. The mare looked entirely bored with the snails pace of the wagon.

But in the wagon was what surprised him more.

Wynn, her red hair flying about in the breeze stood with her hands on the lines, her smile and eyes tilted towards Tristan who rode in beside them. Seated beside her, her cloak pulled up around her face, her hands folded into her lap, was Rhia.

"Rhia." Lancelot breathed to Arthur as they pulled into the yard. "Tristan bloody well brought Rhia back with him."

Both men leapt forward to help stop the moor pony, who had the idea that he could march straight into the stables with his cargo, despite Wynn pulling with all her might to stop, cursing at the pony. Lancelot held the small thing's head while Arthur helped the old woman down. He was misty-eyed as he held Rhia's hand and she gazed up at him, his smile evident that he was pleased to see her.

"Young man, you have gotten much too big!" She said, her voice cracking. Arthur bent down and enfolded her in a hug. She patted his back as he let her go. "The image of your father."

They chatted as he held her hand. Lancelot thought that it was good she was here. He wanted to show her some of the things he had done in the shop. For some reason, he was anxious about that.

The pony bit Lancelot's arm. "Brat!" He yelped and raised his hand to slap at it, but Brinn pulled the reins out of his hands.

"I'll take him, Da'." He said.

Lancelot stepped back and then stopped. He blinked.

Da'? Had the boy even realized what he just said? Brinn was busily unhooking the pony from the wagon, the small furry beast now plac­idly chewing on the edge of his tunic. Brinn prattled on at him.

"Now, now... You can eat in a moment." He chastised, pulling it out of the pony's mouth.

The pony sighed and rested a back foot, going to sleep. Jols looked painfully towards it, Cei and Sky's reins in his hands.

"Bloody useless that thing is." He muttered under his breath to Lancelot as he passed. Lancelot chuckled.

"No doubt."

What use did knights have with a moor pony? He supposed they could shave it and use the fur to re-stuff the saddles. Damned things were unbelievably shaggy. He wondered how it could see out its huge thick forest of a forelock. He watched Brinn push up the forelock and look into the pony's eye.

"What's your name then?" He asked. The pony nickered. Lancelot shook his head. Brinn had a way with horses, even small furry ones with horrid attitudes and sharp teeth. He rubbed his arm.

That would bruise. Bloody thing...

"His name is Eros." Wynn called as she stepped off the back of the wagon, her voice light, a hint of humour in it.

For some reason that made Arthur laugh uncontrollably as Tristan helped Wynn off the back of the wagon. Lancelot would have to ask him why that would be so funny.

He twisted his mouth about and scratched his head as he watched Brinn lead the pony into the stable. His mind turned back to the boy. Brinn had called him... well, he had called him father.

It wasn't so bad, really. He smiled.

Wynn was now standing beside Tristan, Tristan's arm around her, relaxed and slightly smiling. Arthur had made his way over to her and Tristan had introduced her to him. Arthur looked en­thralled, and raised her hand to kiss the knuckles. Wynn blushed scarlet.

Tristan was going to have his hands full with her here, he mused. She was pretty, it wouldn't go unnoticed.

Rhia shuffled over to where Lancelot was standing. He blinked and bowed to her as she reached him, pulling him out of his thoughts.

"So, knight, did you see?" She asked, gratefully leaning on him, her eyes twinkling. He slowly walked her over to an upturned mounting stump and she sat.

He nodded, crouching down beside her. "I did. I never got to thank you."

She patted his arm. "Did she like them?"

"Yes, very much." He said, the remembered what he wanted to ask her. "Tell me, why does everyone who looks at those pins see someone different? Arthur saw his wife, Galahad saw his lover, and well, Cerys, she saw... well, she saw her mother."

Rhia nodded, her eyes crinkling as she smiled. She leaned back a bit, and sighed happily as she readjusted her legs out in front of her. She pondered it a moment.

"Love lets you see what you want to see, when you are ready." she said, winking at him.

He smiled then too, understanding that she was not going to let him in on it any more than that. She glanced about her, a soft look on her face then, remembering.

"This place has not changed much since I was here last. Would you be a kind young man and help an old woman up?"

Lancelot helped her stand. She looked about once more. "I would like to peek in and visit with Dafydd, is he still here?"

"I am." A voice from behind them said.

Lancelot and Rhia turned to see Dafydd standing, his eyes bright, his smile wide, his arms wid­er.

"Rhia, you are such a surprise to see, and a welcome one at that!" He exclaimed and walked up to her. She laughed, he old voice cracking more. Dafydd enfolded her in a hug.

"Dafydd, you are still as handsome as ever."

They laughed and chatted a few more moments. Rhia turned to look at Lancelot, and he smiled at her again. She looked very happy.

"Tell Cerys I expect to have a visit with her soon." She said, and patted his arm one more time.

Lancelot could only nod as Dafydd and Rhia walked away, laughing and talking. Old friends who had been apart for a long time, he thought. Cerys would be happy, she always worried about him. He had been lonely since his wife had died.

He turned back to Tristan and Wynn, who were unloading things from the wagon.

"It's good to see you again Lancelot." Wynn said as he reached the back of the wagon and hoist­ed a small chest onto the ground.

"And you. Welcome to..." He stopped. What was this place called now? It was, before the Ro­mans left, called West Stop, but no one ever referred to it as such anymore. It was just "the Wall" or "The Fort".

"What do we call this place now Arthur?"

Arthur shrugged. "I suppose we should come up with a name, eh? Not really West Stop anymore is it."

The group laughed as they hoisted baggage and set off towards Tristan's rooms. It seemed ri­diculous that by now, after all these years, they would not have named the fort where the King lived.

Some things, Lancelot reflected as they walked, were forgotten about when a people was at war.

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Tristan watched the firelight from the wall torches glance off Wynn's face as he escorted her to the hall to meet everyone. He was nervous, which was new. He was never nervous before, not like this.

He needed a drink badly. A drink, and something to eat. He growled very quietly to him­self. He patted his tunics for an apple, but came up empty.

Bloody Arthur setting a gathering to welcome Rhia and Wynn to the fort. He just wanted to take her back to his rooms and be alone with her.

"Tristan, stop fretting. Your lip is not meant to be chewed such." She whispered in his ear as they made their way.

He felt her hand give his arm a squeeze, and heard tinkling laughter as he grunted. He saw red hair flung about as she looked at him.

"I am looking forward to meeting everyone, including your Cerys." She added, giving him a wink.

He nodded and stopped just before they entered the doorway. She looked at him, confused. "What is it?"

"Only Lancelot and Arthur know about you." He said quietly. "I don't share my coming and goings with others."

She understood and gave him a resigned look. "I am sure they all do know about me now. You know that rumour spreads faster than fire in a place such as this."

Her smile made him relax. She would be fine, and he knew this would make her happy, meeting everyone. He saw her reach out with her other hand and pull at one of his braids. He caught her hand, and they stood for a moment more, her soft eyes following his as he read her face. He ran a thumb over her hand, which she had left grasped on the braid.

"Why?" He whispered.

He was having doubts that she would want to be here with him, once she got an idea of what it entailed. She was used to the open moor, close to the sea, fresh air, birds...

Not stone walls and forests. Not halls with huge tables and rowdy knights.

He still wasn't sure he could give her the kind of life she needed. He had never doubted himself before he had met her, and here he was, the fierce warrior, worried about a woman's happiness. He was being... what had Lancelot called himself that time? A milksop something-or-other...

He looked into her eyes and tried to see what she was thinking. How could a woman make him feel so free, yet so bloody confused at the same time? He sighed and looked away.

The whole place would be out tonight to meet this elusive girl that he had brought back. He knew he was going to get teased about this one for some time to come.

He would kill Bors if he even so much as made one joke about how much she looked like Lorina, with her russet hair.

She stepped forward towards him and made an exasperated noise in her throat, it bringing his eyes back to her. She grabbed another braid with her other hand and pulled him forward, locking him into a kiss. His arms came out around her shoulders, pulling her into him. She curled herself up against him and he possessively held her tighter, deepening his kiss. She smelled of fresh air and lavender, from the soap she used at the baths.

She had been wide-eyed when he brought her there, and she had loved it.

He knew she would.

She had even relented to let him wash her hair, something he had always wanted to do. He could still hear her laughter in his head as she had splashed water everywhere, after he had let her dunk him. He wanted to hold onto that sound forever. Laughter was something he heard so often with his companions, but it never sounded that... pure.

He breathed in again and caught more of her scent. He would have to bother Cerys to get some more for her. He would figure out how to bloody make it if he needed to!

It was making his head spin.

Tristan did not like being out of control, and he realized with a start that right now he was. It was scary and heady all at the same time, and he consciously stretched his hearing out to regain his bearings.

Control, dammit! He gripped her harder as she broke the kiss from him and burrowed her nose into the crook of his neck.

He was going soft in the head, he was in love, and he was about to admit it to everyone in that hall. Somehow, with her kissing him, and his thoughts falling into disarray as she did so, he didn't care anymore.

Bugger it all, let them be a spectacle.

She parted from him again. "Does that answer your question?"

A small smile came across his face. "I think so."

Footsteps echoed behind them. Tristan recognized them as Arthur's even before he had rounded the corner.

"Arthur." He said as the man stopped beside them.

"Tristan, Wynn. Ready to meet the throng?" Arthur said with a chuckle. He looked at Tristan and Tristan looked back at him.

"I'm glad you are here Wynn. We have been waiting for you for a long time." Arthur said, never taking his eyes away from Tristan's face.

Tristan held a hand out, and Arthur shook it, silently communicating. She was accepted.

With his other hand, Arthur beckoned them further towards the doorway. Wynn gave a beaming smile, and unceremoniously tugged Tristan by the hand past Arthur and into the hall, Tristan nearly tripping to keep up.

As he passed Arthur, he gave a panicked look, and Arthur had to stop and compose him­self, it made him laugh so.

Tristan was most definitely going to have his hands full with this one, he thought as he followed them in.

* * *

**Dear Reader:**

Looks like Lancelot is not the king of Freudian slips anymore eh? I remember in second grade I slipped once and called my teacher mom. It was so embarrasing, but she was such a matronly figure to me that it made sense to my young mind. She patted me on the head and said thank you. She got it, I get it now too. Brinn has a father, and its natural for him to call lancelot Da'. especially after their emotional reunion at the graveyard. Lancelot is openign himself up to teh boy, and understands that Brinn is more than squire to him, and he sees the connection with Cerys. Family is beautiful, and Brinn just solidified it.

Now, Tristan finally closedthe door on his guarded self, and is ready to be with Wynn, and let the rest of his world see the real him. He's still the alert scout, he's still the silent type, but now he is not going to hold himself back from being with people that, despite his aloof nature, he really does care about. He's a big strong manly man, and hes good at what he does, killing and fighting. But, just like Lancelot, he can see past it now. And what he sees, well, its Wynn!

And did anyone get the joke about Eros? I hope so, it made me laugh like mad when I wrote it.

Here is to your own life experiences giving you a chance to write something that makes you laugh. Doesn't matter if anyone else finds it funny, if you laughed, then it did its job. Laughter keeps us healthy, as does following our muses onto the paper with our pens.

_Cardeia_


	57. Introductions

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the character names, save my own original creations. I do not wish to be compensated for this work, nor do I wish to infringe on any copyrights held by any stakeholders of the movie King Arthur. This work is an original creation, based on the legend of King Arthur and his knights.

* * *

**Scribe Notes:**

_All:_ Hey, most of you got the joke! **Eros** is indeed a God of love. So there are a couple of meanings. 1. He brought Wynn back to the fort, ergo being a bit of a Cupid. 2. He's an ancient, and obstinate furry pony named after a large Greek God, which is funny all on its own to horse people. 3. Hes not gelded, and the backstory which I cut from the original chapter talked about how he would breed anything that moved, hence the name. If Bors had been in the stableyard, he would have made some joke about how Lancelot used todo much the same thing, and then Lancelot would have thanked Bors for inadvertantly calling him a God. (cure laugh track).

On to comments:

_Sokorra Lewis:_ Ahh but Percy is already paired! And Jols, I think I shall leave him single for now. Gawain, well you will just have to keep reading to find out what happens.

_Calliann_: Glad you thought I nailed him. He's a tough one to keep in character isn't he! Here is a bit more Wynn for you. She will fit in well. I haven't developed her character as much, but I think you will get an idea what she is like from this, a wee bit.

_lilstrummrgrl527:_ Hey sleep is good. I caught up on mine this weekend. Naps are great. Yes, I had hinted in one chapter that Brinn figured he would slip someday. I finally decided to let him do it, but not realize he did. It makes it more fun for Lancelot's reaction that way, and his acceptance. I don't think he will call Cerys mum though, he remembers his real mum too much.

_gwenn0:_ Well, he was around 15 when he was taken by the Romans, then 15 years after that would put him around 30, which he was in the movie. So add about 5 to 6 years to that and he's middle thirties. Cerys is a bit younger perhaps, I put her in her middle to late twenties, perhaps early thirties. A bit late in medieval standards, but hey, love takes time.

Lists run my life, so does my PalmPilot. Does this website not support portugese? I thought it had a whole raft of languages you could publish work in.

_Ailis-70:_ Yeah, she can be a spitfire. She's confident and a bit headstrong, but really in love with the man. He was able to relax around her, and let out his playful side, dance, laugh... So it stands to reason shes an extrovert to pull that out of him. I haven't developed her fully, so shes still a work in progress. Now he gets to bring his happy place home to where his family is and merge the two halves of his life. Hard to do for an introvert like him, but it will be fun!

And yes you are. (grin)

_LovelyHeidi:_ It's perfectly fine! Thank you for reviewing this time! I love Montreal. Its a close drive for us and I keep threatening my guy that I am going to make him take me for dinner in the old port area there. It's only two hours or so from Ottawa and its a lovely evening or weekend getaway for us here. Here is Wynn's debut, and more Gawain for you.

_Melosine:_ Gawain is coming along, and here is some more for you with him. And, some more Tristan and Wynn, as she is introduced. I hope that you like it! There is much happiness, and much to celebrate. And yes, God of Love. You got it.

_ElvenStar5:_ Thank you for your kind praise, I really appreciate it. I hope someday to be able to say that my book was on the shelf beside Nora Roberts, since we both have R as a last name. It's goofy, but someday I will write that book. For now, this is so enjoyable. My dad keeps asking me when I am going to write something that can be published... I just stick my tongue out and tell him that it already is, just online (grin).

Babies soon, but not until after the wedding. Guinevere is due in middle summer.

* * *

**Chapter 57: _Introductions_**

Wynn gasped as she entered the hall and saw the table. It was a huge room, with cushions and braziers, tables on the side with food and wine... and the centre table... it was... she blinked.

It was round.

"It does that to everyone." Tristan whispered in her ear, his poise returned. "It's big. We will dance on it later, you and I."

She smiled at his remark. It looked wonderful, something out of a dream! So far today she had bathed in a huge pool of hot water, and toured through one of the largest forts she had ever seen. She remembered Rhia talking about it, but it never compared to what she saw now.

Eros had never been in such a grand stable. They had to barricade the back of his stall; he could walk right out underneath the flank rope, and turn around with ease!

Even this room was exciting. It was bigger than all the huts in her village put together.

She saw Lancelot, his arms wound around a smaller woman, her laughing at something a blonde girl was saying, wrapped up with another knight. She saw Arthur embrace a brown haired wom­an, her pregnant belly showing through her amply cut dress. Just off to the other side, a younger man had a dark-haired girl were locked tightly together, drinking and talking quietly.

This was quite a family. She felt herself relax even more.

"What's this now Tristan?" A voice roared to her left and she turned to see a large shaven man walking towards them, a curvy woman in tow, a grin on his scarred face going from ear to ear.

Wynn breathed a sigh of relief. Red hair. She would at least have someone else in this place that understood her curse.

"Bors, this is Wynn. She's my..." Tristan faltered a bit. "She's my friend from the coast."

Wynn smiled. It was going to take time for him, getting used to being open about his life. It had taken her nearly a year to crack him, and they had known him for almost twenty years, some more.

She did have one advantage though, and she blushed slightly thinking about how she had first gotten him to talk. He had called her his fire woman after that night. She breathed in and squared her shoulders to rid herself of the thoughts of what she had to look forward to later, when they were alone. She was here to meet people.

She squeezed his hand and he squeezed back. She needed to find him some wine. Hells, she needed some herself! She was excited, but she felt a bit lost as she looked about all the people. She was never going to keep names straight. She hoped she remembered all of Tristan's stories correctly. That would help.

"Bors. You are the one with all the children!" She exclaimed, remembering the stories. "And you must be... Lorina?"

Lorina laughed and took her arm, disengaging herself from Bors. "Yes, that would be me. Let me rescue you from Tristan for a moment and introduce you to the women. We are all dieing to meet you."

As they walked around the outside of the table, Wynn felt gratitude towards the woman. She knew exactly what she was doing, this one did. She looked back to Tristan, who was being soundly thumped on the back by Bors, and winked at him. He raised an eyebrow and turned towards a table with ewers and cups.

"Tristan would prefer it this way." Lorina said quietly, Wynn nodding in agreement. Lorina smiled at that and continued, "He can watch you now, and doesn't have to do so much introduc­ing. He's spent so much time by himself over the years, he knows naught else. Well... until he gets wine into him."

Wynn laughed and patted her arm. "I think I will like it here." She replied as they neared the spot where four other women were rising from their seats to greet her.

Yes, she would like it here very much.

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Gawain was sitting in the very corner of the hall, watching the entire group meet Wynn, the laughter and happy embraces echoing to reach his ears. He didn't much feel like participating, so he hid in the shadows, preferring to be alone, his own flagon of wine and a cup beside him.

Yet one more of his friends happily in love, he reflected bitterly. Happily moving on in life. How could he move on? He felt the effort every day of just getting up out of his bed, moving through his tasks, his work.

He watched his brother with Dory, the two of them blissfully wrapped up in each other. He sighed and played with a lock of his hair, the ends dry and split. He made a disgusted noise and flung it back over his shoulder, slumping in his seat.

And Cerys, she was embracing Wynn so easily, her smile happy. When only the day before she shed tears for Gareth as they had stood and put him to rest. Lancelot, he too was smiling and jesting with Perceval as if nothing had happened.

How did they all do it? He asked himself bitterly. How could they see past what happened and continue on as if nothing had happened? He knew they were not callous people, yet he felt as if they were dishonouring Gareth with their gaiety.

He spat at his feet, and lowered his eyes to his cup. He purposely thought on other things, to prevent the images creeping into his head.

He grunted and drained the cup. He could at least do one thing right now with some semblance of efficiency. He could get drunk.

"Feeling sorry for yourself?" A crackled voice from his right startled him. He turned his head and saw an old woman slowly making her way over to him, her gait stiff, her movements slow.

But her eyes, he noticed as she got closer, they sparkled. He blinked. For a moment, he thought he saw Cerys in them.

He was drinking, he might just see anyone if he put a mind to it.

"What does it matter to you old woman?" He growled. Perhaps if he was rude she would seek her companionship elsewhere. He was really not in the mood to be accommodating to anyone, not even people he should be respectful to.

She grinned, showing the wrinkles in her face, the tattoos that curled about her cheeks and eyes. He sighed. She was not going to be deterred was she?

"It matters not to me, but does it matter to you?" She tutted with her tongue and sat on the bench beside him, a huge sigh going out of her as she did. She leaned back on the wall and looked about. "Quite a vantage you have from here, boy."

He turned to her. Something about her was now familiar. "Do we know each other?"

She grinned again. "I remember you. The only blonde boy in Arthur's group. They used to call you lion cub. Your brother, he is over there with the dark-haired girl."

Gawain nodded. He blinked again. Gareth had given him that name after Gawain had knocked Pellinore to the ground during training and they had rolled about in the dirt, Gawain roaring the whole time. After that, they had likened him to a cub fighting with his brothers, pawing and snarling. It hadn't bothered him then. That had been the start of his friendship with Gareth.

No one used it anymore. They hadn't for years.

He lowered his head, his fingers tracing the rim of his cup. And now, what was he? Certainly no lion. He was a pathetic excuse for a man, if anything.

"Leave me to my drink, woman, I am in no mood for talking." He muttered, leaning forward on his knees, his hands surrounding his cup.

"So, you will just wallow in your sad memories? They won't help you see past your grief unless you share them." She stated abruptly.

He snapped his eyes up to her. She was invading into areas he would rather keep hidden and it unnerved him. "You wouldn't understand, old woman."

"I think she might." Another voice said as Tristan stepped out around the corner. He pulled Ga­wain's cup out of his hand and drained it, handing it back to the man, a smirk on his face.

"Why do you always do that?" Gawain asked irritably, and refilled his cup.

"Because I can."

Tristan settled cross-legged in front of Gawain. He smiled and flicked his glance away from them towards Wynn. Satisfied that he could see her, he refocused on Gawain and the woman.

"Gawain, this is Rhia. She came back from the coast with m... Wynn and I." He said.

Rhia smiled. Tristan picked Gawain's filled cup out of his hands again before Gawain could protest and handed it to Rhia. Rhia cupped it in her gnarled hands and bobbed her head. Gawain watched the two of them. They had known each other for some time. But, she had also known him...

"How do you know me?" He asked suddenly, straightening to look at her. "I do not remember you at all."

Rhia chuckled. "Young boys seldom notice their elders. I lived here, for a time, with my hus­band. He was the armourer for Uther, when you were young boys, fresh from your trip across the sea."

Gawain nodded. "Sabin."

"Yes."

Gawain nodded again. "He is well?"

She lowered her eyes sadly and patted his leg absently. "He passed recently."

Tristan made a noise and Gawain flicked his eyes to him. They looked at each other for a mo­ment. Tristan cocked his head towards Rhia, and then stood.

"I must check on... on the..." He faltered.

"Go find her and dance." Rhia said as she regained herself and smiled up at him. "You aren't fooling anyone, scout. Your eyes barely leave her."

Tristan grimaced and spun on his heel, walking away from Gawain and Rhia. Rhia chuckled.

"Now, are you going to tell me what has you so twisted up?" She said then, not missing a beat. She shifted in her seat to face towards him.

Gawain groaned and leaned back on the wall. He looked around the area for another cup, and when he didn't find one, he simply raised the jug and began drinking from it. Rhia turned the cup in her hands and watched him.

"If you don't let it out, it will kill you." She added. Gawain closed his eyes.

"Good riddance."

He heard Rhia tutt again. He hated that noise. What would it matter? He was a burden to his brother, all he could do was drink and kill, and these memories, they haunted him day and night. It might be better if he was dead. He wouldn't cause any more pain to anyone else. He wouldn't have to live with the memory of what he had done.

Gawain went to stand, and found himself unable, sinking back to the bench. He grunted and tried once more. He succeeded, and swayed unsteadily for a moment.

"I think you will find that there are many people here who would find that hard to live with if you did." Rhia said then, sipping again from the cup.

He blinked and looked at her. She was getting into his head and he really didn't want to think on such things. He wanted to be oblivious. Couldn't she see that? He felt a strong urge to hit something at that moment and took a step away from her. He wasn't quite sure he could control himself right then.

"Old woman, did you ever think that maybe I should already be dead? That perhaps this fate I have of living it in my head every night is my punishment?" He rasped through clenched teeth, his eyes snapping.

Rhia's eyes were calm, levelly gazing back at him.

"You are the only one who can change your fate, young knight." She said softly, and she too rose slowly. She turned to go, and stopped, handing him his cup back.

"Let him go, lion cub, he would not want this."

Gawain threw down both the wine jug and cup and strode out of the hall, his anger evident.

Rhia's eyes caught Tristan's from his seat near Wynn, and she shook her head sadly. He nodded, and then turned back to the women gathered around Wynn, and the conversation.

* * *

**Dear Reader:**

Gawain is almost unreachable. Rhia tries but perhaps he is not ready. It's a shock to come across what you had been trying to forget. Partof the healing was killing that chief, now they just have to figure out how to start the other half, him talking about the memory that makes him scream each night.

It's been a long time coming, and now he can't shake it, even when awake.

On to the next chapter! Thank you for coming along on this journey with me, and understanding Gawain's pain.

_Cardeia_


	58. Family Reunion

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the character names, save my own original creations. I do not wish to be compensated for this work, nor do I wish to infringe on any copyrights held by any stakeholders of the movie King Arthur. This work is an original creation, based on the legend of King Arthur and his knights.

* * *

**Chapter 58: _Family Reunion_**

Cerys watched Gawain storm out, and Rhia, from her seat, shake her head sadly.

"Rhia had no luck." She leaned over to Wynn. Wynn sighed audibly and gave Cerys a sad look.

"She has a wonderful ability to see what you are thinking. Tristan had hoped she could help your friend that just left. How do you know her?"

Cerys made a noise and nodded. "I knew her from when I was very young, she was a part of the family here, and she is half-sister to my father. I should go over and help her back down to a cush­ion."

Cerys rose and walked up to Rhia, as the old woman was trying to stand. She hadn't realized so many years had passed. Rhia was older now. Cerys realized that if her parents were still alive, they too would be creaking and rickety. She felt a stab of pain as she remembered them, and pushed it away. She should have visited Rhia and Sabin. Yet another thing to regret from focus­ing on her work so much. She wondered if Rhia resented her for that.

No more sad thoughts. They had been sharing memories of Gareth and it had made her feel down, and she was determined not to berate herself over what was past.

"Easy, I'll help you." She said, reaching out to steady a hand as Rhia finally found her feet.

Rhia smiled at Cerys. Cerys smiled back. The woman stood a moment, looking to each other. Old and young, nothing alike except in the sparkle of their eyes. Both reached out at the same time and patted each other on the arm. Cerys pealed with laughter and hugged her spontaneous­ly, then letting her go to help her move towards the group nearer the table.

"It has been too long child." Rhia said, her eyes suddenly misting over. "Much too long. You are so lovely, just like your mother."

Cerys helped her down onto a cushion. The brazier nearby was giving off warmth, and Rhia sighed and set her back to it. Cerys sat beside her, and offered her a plate of fruit and a goblet with some wine that she pulled off the edge of the table. Rhia shook her head and sat back, en­joying the plush cushion.

She passed the plate down to Nimli, and Perceval popped a whole date in his mouth as it made its way down the row further.

"Pig." Nimli said, and Perceval made snorting noises and rooted at her neck. They began laugh­ing and Cerys giggled along with them, sipping at the goblet, her eyes floating over her friends.

"This is such a wonderful place. I remember many nights, dancing on this table." Rhia reflected as she ran a hand over the edge fondly.

Cerys laughed. "As we do now!" Both women chuckled at that. Some things never changed, and it was a wonderful thing.

"So, you are marrying the dark knight there." She pointed to Lancelot, who was talking with Arthur, the two of them laughing, reclined a few sections down. Lancelot caught their stares, and he winked. Cerys rolled her eyes.

"He also knows when someone is talking about him. Those ears burn so easily." She giggled. "Yes, I am, in two weeks at Equinox."

Rhia nodded. "Your mother knew he would be the one."

"Oh? How did she know?" Cerys asked, her curiosity peaked.

"The two of you were inseparable when you were children and he was newly here. He got into a fight with a large brute of a boy, twice his size, over you. I think the boys name was Owain. After that, he never let you out of his sight, when he could."

Cerys raised her eyebrows and looked over at Lancelot again. "I never knew. I always consid­ered him just a close friend..." She trailed off, and took another sip of wine.

"You used to give him such temper tantrums when you would sit with the scout there." Rhia chuckled.

"You remember all this?" Cerys looked at Rhia.

"Owain was over the moon with you, and he announced that he was going to marry you when you were of age. Lancelot apparently jumped on him then and there and pummelled him so hard that he broke Owain's nose in three places! Dafydd had quite a time setting it, if I remember correctly."

Cerys had never remembered Owain telling her his intentions, nor had she remembered his nose. Injuries to the boys had been so common when they were in training. Even after she had returned from Powys, he had never said anything. He had been so sweet and gentle to her, all along. She had called him 'Gentle Giant'.

He had died not long after she had returned, in a skirmish just east, where the wall had been breached. They were supervising a crew patching it back up, when an arrow had come through the gap and sliced him clean through his jugular.

She pursed her lips. Lancelot had taken that death hard. Perhaps now she knew partly why. The two had never quite seen eye to eye, perhaps that had been the start of it.

"Really... now that is interesting." Cerys tapped her chin and winked at Rhia. She would have to ask Lancelot about that later. He had declared himself then? The man sure did take his time; she mused, and lightened her own mood as suddenly as she had remembered the sad memory.

Rhia tutted. "You whittle too much in your head child. Are you still a worrisome about those tally sticks as you used to be?"

Cerys laughed and kissed Rhia's cheek. This woman could not be fooled. Wrinkles or no, she was as sharp as an arrow.

The two women spent some time catching up, talking about the fort, news from the coast. Cerys settled in with her arm about Rhia and as they chatted, she watched the men slowly get up and leave the hall, one by one.

"The men are leaving." She murmured.

"They need to find him and make him remember." Rhia said. "His thoughts are what keep him from letting go. His memories he feels are dishonourable. I can see him feeling responsible for the Green One's death."

"He is so tortured Rhia. I worry about him. His brother can't even reach him anymore."

Both women were silent for a moment, thinking on Gawain and the predicament. Rhia sighed and patted Cerys' arm.

"It is not your worry anymore child. The men will help him, it just may take time."

Cery nodded. She smiled then and raised her hands above her head. "Here we are such sad wom­en, when we have much to be happy about! I have you back to visit, we have a new friend in Wynn, and a new assistant for Dafydd! I am to be married..."

She stopped and giggled. "And... It seems my brother has finally met his match."

Cerys stopped giggling and watched Rhia pull her hand out from her lap and reach up, pulling a pin out of Cerys' hair. The other one fell slightly and Cerys pulled it out, handing it to her. Rhia smoothed them in her hands, her gnarled fingers rubbing the cameo, the lettering.

"They are beautiful in your hair." She said thickly. "When your Lancelot came into our village that night, I thought I was dreaming, seeing my Sabin's lion on his chest."

"Rhia, what made you give him these?" Cerys asked softly, putting her fingers on them, looking into the old woman's eyes. "He proposed to me with these."

Rhia sniffed and grunted. "I have no family save you, and I had no way of giving them to you. They helped him understand that he could love. He sat all night by the fire and looked at them, mumbling to himself. When he saw your face in them, I knew it was you he was tormented about."

Cerys realized then the reason for his complete exhaustion when he had come back. He had in­deed not slept, but not due to keeping watch! He was thinking on her. He was thinking on these pins and what they meant. They had meant a great deal to him, and she finally understood.

Cerys felt very humbled and she swallowed. How she loved that man right then, even more than she could have ever thought.

"Does he not know that you are my aunt?" She asked, wondering if Rhia had mentioned that fact to him after he had seen her in the pins carvings.

Rhia waved a hand "It was not important. The fact that he saw you, that was enough. As far as he knew, I was a strange old woman who spoke in riddles and gave him no end of new questions to ponder."

Cerys laughed uproariously. She could see his face, frustrated beyond belief at Rhia fuddling his brain with riddles. It must have added to his confusion, her seeing her mother in the cameo.

Cerys suddenly had an idea.

"You are a priestess of Manawydan, aren't you?"

Rhia nodded, looking out the corner of her eyes at Cerys. "What have you got up your sleeve child?"

"Marry us." she said matter-of-factly, gesturing with her hand. "Arthur wants a Christian cere­mony, but I would love no other to do it than you. You are my father's blood, and thus mine."

"Cerys, you are just like your father with your impetuousness. But, I will marry you and Lance­lot, if Arthur agrees."

The women stopped talking as they heard the conversation, their smiles beaming. Guinevere looked especially pleased, and they gathered around at that point to talk about the wedding and all the preparations. Cerys stopped paying attention, her thoughts travelling back to Gawain and Gareth and his evident pain this evening. She thought on her own knight, his cousin now home to rest, his pain from last night still echoing in her ears as he had quietly sobbed the grief away.

Gawain needed someone whom he could do that with, she thought. He was the only one in the group of seven knights that did not have a lover or wife to go home to at night now. It had hap­pened so fast, she hadn't even realized it until now. Perceval and Nimli, although she was de­nying it, were quite in love with one another.

There would be more weddings soon. Perhaps Rhia could visit for a few months?

Cerys sat back and fixed her eyes on the door. She hoped with all her might that the men were able to find Gawain and help him remember Gareth, so he could move on, and perhaps open himself to finding a love, to help him remember his happiness.

* * *

**Dear Reader:**

Now you know why so many people were reminded of Cerys when they saw her! She is not Arthur's blood, as Arthur and Cerys mothers were sisters. So Cerys' father was no blood relation to Arthur, hence Rhia would not be either. But she is for Cerys!

So despite the sad happenings, and Gawain's torment continuing, it is a happy place, the fort. And don't worry,I do plan on letting Arthur name the place. I have two ideas. One is the traditional, one would be much more fun. I haven't decided yet (wink).

I hope you enjoyed this brief respite and a chance for Cerys and Rhia to catch up. Do you have anyone that you should be visiting? I think on the relatives that I have that I haven't visited in so long, and I feel guilty. Perhaps this week I will take an evening to do so. I need to go visit my grandfathers resting place and bring him some Black-Eyed Susans and fresh wild raspberries. He would like that.

Here is to remembering those that are part of our lives, and in our thoughts if not always in our sight.

_Cardeia_


	59. Interlude on a Sunny Afternoon

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the character names, save my own original creations. I do not wish to be compensated for this work, nor do I wish to infringe on any copyrights held by any stakeholders of the movie King Arthur. This work is an original creation, based on the legend of King Arthur and his knights.

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**Scribe Notes:**

_Calliann:_ He is very difficult to write for. And I am glad I got him. Sometimes I feel I understand him in everyone elses stoy but mine! (grin).

Gawain is hurting, he is blind to the family wanting to help him. It takes a monumental effort to see that. Like the addict, they can only seek help once they see the damage they do, instead of the high from whatever they are addicted to. Grief is like that as well.

_ElvenStar5:_ I was never any good at volleyball.. too short. I hope your fingers feel better soon! I have arthritis in mine, so I can understand pain. I once froze my fingers riding racehorses in -30 weather in an indoor arena, they had to slowly heat them to get the reins out of my hands. Even with gloves. It was excrutiating! Someday. I know Ms. Roberts does not endorse fan fiction, but I think this website has really strenghtened my resolve to just do it. Get it out there!

_lilstrummrgrl527:_ Don't worry, he;s not going to die. I love my characters too much to do that. I thought about the ability to kill off characters, and I just cringe at the thought. So no, he's not going anywhere.

I personally love red hair, I wish mine was (curses thin blonde hair). But every natural redhead I know hated their hair, so that bit was for them (grin).

I am glad you were surprised at Cerys' idea! I foreshadow obtusely about it when she talked to Lancelot and says that her god is Manawydan, which is a god of the sea, I believe. Since I have no Merlin in here, she's gonna do it. I can't wait to write that chapter, I have it so clear in my head.

_Melosine:_ I have to tell you how much I am enjoying your Memoirs piece. It is so different, and really makes me think about the characters in an enjoyeable and slightly ahh... sexy, new way. You bring out parts of their characters that are familiar to us all, yet you give them a new twist.

I'm so glad that you are enjoying! This chapter is a bit lighter, I wanted to give some fuzzies out. I think Rhia is the right one to marry them. It's exciting! I'm almost there!

_Sea Cucumber:_ You are a scallywag and I am honored at your new story. I could not get your email to work so I sent my reply to the story review board. I hope that was OK.

Thank you for reviewing. I am very happy that you are enjoying the story. Weddings are so much fun, and now I get to live vicariously through my favorite couple! (le sigh).

_Ailis-70:_ Thank you for sending me to Tith'd ones! That is such an incredible story! I sent that authoress a review. SO rich.. makes me look at my stuff and wonder how I can get my work to sound so... so passionate and colourful. Ahh there I go again with my inner critic (beats at it with a club... DOWN BOY...) (Wink)

The scene where Tristan takes Gawain's cup was an echo of the "How do you do that?" scene in the movie. Same voice, same incredulity. So fun the way those two play off each other. I can see Tristan saying or mumblingsomething and Gawain giving him that "What are you on?" look. Priceless. Gawain does the "yeah right" look very well.

Wynn and Teagan would get along well. Perhaps she is not as learned in the ways of battle, but I think they would really understand each other well. Woman to woman. And I bet they would run a kickass bar together. Pehaps Wynn is a bit like Ceri as well in that sense. But I did pattern some of her traits after Teagan, since Teagan stands out in my head so much when I think of Tristan and what he would need/want in a woman.

Teagan plain ole rocks. Wynn, she's got a bit of a friend of mine that lives in South Carolina in her as well. Confident and sassy, with a really easy going way about her. I miss her, haven't seen her in so long!

As I think I mentioned in my email, Lancelot and Cerys do have plans for Brinn, but in another sense. I won't spoil it, but its really fun, I promise!

Ok folks, here's another chapter! Enjoy!

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**Chapter 59: _Interlude on a Sunny Afternoon_**

"Hywel, hand me that hammer over by the bench would you?" Lancelot shouted above the sound of the bellows, whooshing behind him, the ring of hammer on iron from Hywel's assistant on the other side of them.

The hammer landed with a soft thud at his feet, sand from the floor shooting out over his boots. Hywel, red-faced from the heat of the forge, grinned at him.

"Thank you!" Lancelot shouted as he picked up the small round-ended hammer.

Lancelot held up the small bit of bronze he was fiddling with. He was attempting to make a thin strip of it into a round circlet, small enough to slip over a wrist. He held the piece down and whacked at the edge to smooth it. He swore lowly as sweat dripped into his eye, and shook his head to clear it, sending droplets flying out from his hair.

He curled the end of the circlet over the round end on the anvil and continued beating at it. The edges were starting to blunt and scallop and he carefully worked his way around one, then the other, the hammer making tiny dents in the edges as he turned it.

There was a pattern to it. Every second hammer hit was to the circlet. The ones between hit the anvil as the circlet was shifted forward. He settled into the rhythm. The sounds of 'Ting, thunk, ting, thunk' became rhythmic and it calmed him for a few turns. His hand worked automatically, his eyes shifting, measuring as he worked the metal.

But soon enough, instead of helping him empty his mind, he became restless. He stopped for a moment and took a breath. It was bloody hot in here. He heard the bellows whoosh again. Why in Gods name did Hywel need to have the forge turned up more? Lancelot was sure that they could cook meat on the surfaces of the hearth just outside it.

He bent again to work the other side of the circlet and hit his thumb as he went to make the first strike.

"Damn, damn... DAMN!"

Lancelot put his thumb into his mouth for a moment and stopped, creaking up from his bent over position at the anvil. He twisted and popped his back, sighing.

He was tired, and he had, yet again, not slept enough as they had all taken turns to sit with Ga­wain. After he had stormed out of the hall that night, they had found him in his room, curled up and sleeping in the corner of his room.

He hadn't started screaming yet, when Lancelot had finished his watch and handed him over to Arthur. Gawain had waited until Bors' watch to do that. Bors had been woken from a dead sleep to Gawain wide-eyed and screaming, pushed up against the headboard, his hands outstretched in front of him, shaking like a leaf in the wind.

All Bors remembered him screaming was "Let him go!" as he had held him down and calmed him enough to return to quiet sleep from his nightmare state.

This was now going to be in its fourth night. Lancelot was ready to throttle the blonde man. He wanted to spend his nights with his bride-to-be in their rooms, ravishing her, letting her read to him, holding her close and then working her up so he could ravish her again...

He hadn't even been able to spend any time with Cerys in their beds for three days, and it was driving him to distraction. He had never felt the need for a woman like this before. And it wasn't just for a woman. It was for her. He growled then, and ran a hand down over his sweat-soaked face.

Lancelot put down the circlet and the hammer. He was entirely too randy this afternoon to keep his mind on his work, and he couldn't concentrate from the heat. He grimaced and wiped his forehead with his hand, then wiped his hand on his trews. It was too hot to be working in here today.

He pointed to the door as Hywel looked at him. Hywel nodded and turned back to the sword blade he had shoved deep into the coals of the forge. As Lancelot was leaving, he heard Hywel shouting at his assistant to give the bellows a push.

Hywel was insane to be working near that heat on a day like today. He was used to it though, perhaps that was the difference.

The air was sweeter just outside the shop, and Lancelot breathed in deeply as he walked. His stomach growled in response to the change in activity, so he changed his course towards the kitchens. He assumed it would be just as warm, but the ladies would not mind a quick visit and he could steal some nuts and bread, maybe a dried apple, and be on his way in short time.

He heard giggling coming from the kitchens as he ducked through the doorway, Inside, seated on the table, was Nimli, her dress top undone down to her navel, and Perceval's hands inside them, playing with her unbound breasts, now and again tilting his head down to kiss one of them.

Her legs were wrapped around Perceval's waist, her skirt falling over them to reveal tanned calves gripping his hips. She was feeding him bits of dried meat as she herself ate. He looked entirely too pleased to be her 'captive', as his laughter made evident.

"Never mind me, just here to get a bite."

Nimli let out a squeal as Perceval reached down and fished a bit of dried meat out of her cleav­age. She slapped him lightly, and then pulled him towards her and kissed him. They paid him no attention at all, completely engrossed with one another.

His words had fallen on deaf ears.

Lancelot found some bread covered over by linen in a basket and he thieved two rounds out of it, plus some dried gooseberries from the pots above the stove. He poked about for some cheese, but had found none. He supposed the root cellar was locked. Damn...

Cerys was much too efficient.

He smiled as he listened to giggling turn into gasping. He hoped none of the other kitchen wom­en came in before they were done. That would be a funny sight! He imagined a swearing Per­ceval high-tailing it out of the kitchens, chased by an old woman, her broom waving about, perhaps even smacking his backside, holding his trews up with his hands, brown hair flying in his mad dash for freedom.

He knew Nimli would laugh her pretty little head off if so. She had done that when he himself had been chased out of the kitchens after frolicking with her at that very table. Nimli was one conquest that Cerys didn't know about, and he preferred it that way. At least he hoped she didn't know about it. Those women would gossip about anything...

Lancelot shook his head and chuckled to himself. Those days were gone. Unless Cerys got a notion to use the kitchens for another type of cooking in the afternoons...

He blinked. He really was much too worked up, if he was thinking about that.

Back out in the sunshine, he groaned and popped some of the dried fruit into his mouth. The last few days he had been preoccupied. He knew all too soon they would be out again, and he dread­ed it.

He was ready to give Gawain what for. This could not go on. It was affecting everyone. He won­dered just what they would have to do to get the man out of his funk, so they could stop watching him at night, and quit keeping tabs on him during the day. It wasn't enough that Arthur had giv­en him time off of work, but Tristan had been asked to go into Gawain and Galahad's room and strip it of all knives. Galahad had temporarily moved their weapons into Perceval's quarters, much to the knights bellyaching that he had no room to turn around in them anymore.

Lancelot sighed. Perhaps it was just time he needed. He pushed the thoughts away. It was tire­some to bring his mind back to the same starting point again and again. Always wondering what he could do, not knowing, beating himself up for it and then starting all over.

Gawain had to stop this pattern or he too would go mad... Mad... Gawain wasn't mad. He was just grieving and holding onto something that was making him...

Lancelot grimaced and tore at a chunk of bread. It was making him mad. There was no other word for it.

He stopped for a moment and quietly chewed, looking about. Where to go? He had worked that morning with Bors, and then gone to the baths as was usual. Then it was onto the shop to putter. He had the afternoon to relax, unless Arthur found him some task to do. He wished Cerys did not have her own duties to attend to, or he would seek her out and drag her home for some much needed quiet time. Well... quiet time after he ripped her out of her dress and had his way with her.

Lancelot could feel himself responding to the thought. Damn this! He needed to find a distrac­tion.

He was contemplating hiding out in the stables, or checking in on Gawain when he saw Cerys walking around the corner, Brinn with her, his own hands full of tack.

She was talking with him, smiling and laughing, a small knife in one hand, and a basket with what looked like chives in the other. Her dress had two muddy spots on it where she had been leaning in the mud, and her hands were brown from the gardens. Her hair was a mess, the wind blowing it about, and she had a streak of mud across one cheek where she had brushed her hand across it.

But she was laughing, her eyes sparkling, and her skin glowing pink with her obvious happiness.

She was so beautiful at that moment, it took his breath away. He stood and simply watched her, his contemplations of anything else gone from his head.

Brinn saw him and waved merrily. Cerys looked up and she smiled as well. They met in the mid­dle of the open area between the kitchens, stable and start of the apartment rows.

"Well hello, wandering stranger." Cerys joked.

"Milady, how are you this fine afternoon?" He replied back, bowing deeply.

"Such a fine afternoon Sir, but made better by your happening this way." She said back, barely able to hold in her laughter. Lancelot lifted his lips into his sideways grin and wiggled his eye­brows. The jest was on.

"Would you, Milady, wish for a chance encounter with this fine specimen of manhood?" He said, running his fingers backwards down his chest, and flourishing them out, winking.

Cerys raised her eyebrow and took a step forward. She pinched his arm, hemmed and hawwed as she circled him. Her fingers on her chin in mock concentration.

"A bit on the skinny side." She said, poking his ribs. He shifted from her. She knew just where his ticklish spots were. "And perhaps he does remind one of a goat..."

Lancelot was laughing now, unable to keep it in. Brinn was standing off to one side, his arms crossed, a mixture of disgust and amusement on his face. Cerys poked his backside, and he swat­ted at her hand, turning his head and body to keep up to her, her eyes dancing with mirth, her skin flushed even more as she attempted to keep a serious face. She broke it and giggled, and then stood on tiptoe to look into his face.

"I believe you'll do, humble sir." She said, "…For a goat." Then burst into laughter.

Lancelot swung her up with one arm and kissed her, her hands coming around his neck and they laughed, looking into each others eyes. His other hand came up to her face, pulling hair out of the way.

He loved her so much. He missed her when they couldn't be together, and he realized that no matter how tired or unhappy or frustrated he was, a simple smile from her and his world was right again.

Brinn rolled his eyes and snorted, interrupting their antics and they both turned to him as Lance­lot set her to the ground.

"You two are going to make me sick to my stomach if you keep that up."

Cerys let out another laugh and reached out, crooking her arm about Brinn's neck, pulling him over and giving him a smacking kiss to his cheek. Brinn screwed up his face, with obvious dis­content, but didn't struggle to get away. He knew better.

"It's sappy." He grumbled, wiping at his cheek.

The three stood for a few more moments, talking and catching up. Lancelot watched Cerys at­tempt to put her hair behind her ears, but gave up when it just blew about in the cross breeze through the buildings. He stepped to her side and began playing with it, while he and Brinn dis­cussed Klyndd and other such important chores.

"I must get these chives into the kitchen or they will wilt." Cerys said finally, disengaging her­self from Lancelot. Lancelot held her arm.

"You may want to give the kitchens a miss for a few more moments. Perceval and Nimli..." He jerked his head towards the kitchens and raised his eyebrows.

"Again? Third time this week. Bloody hells." Cerys admonished. "They have rooms."

Brinn took that as a sign he needed to move on as well, as Lancelot and Cerys shared a look and began laughing together.

"Bye Cerys, bye Da'." he said as he began walking towards the stable. As soon as he thought them out of sight, they watched him break into a jog, the tack bouncing on his shoulder as he made his way.

"Bye..." Lancelot answered more to himself than to Brinn, an amused look to his face, a soft grin replacing the sarcastic one from a few moments before.

Cerys grinned widely and mock-punched his arm. Lancelot had told her about Brinn calling him father. It was very sweet, and Cerys wasn't sure if Brinn even realized it yet. She linked arms with him then and they looked to one another.

"I'm not used to it yet." he admitted, scratching his cheek and looking up to where the boy had gone.

"It's wonderful, don't you think?" Cerys said quietly, handing him some chives. He nodded.

It was.

Lancelot handed her a round of bread, and they found a spot to sit on the ground near the kitchen to wait out the couple inside. He thankfully slid down the wall and splayed his legs out in front of him as she curled her legs underneath her skirts and rested on one hip.

Lancelot chewed on the end of one of the green shoots, watching her delicately peel off bits of crust and pop them into her mouth. Her fingernails were dirty and cracked from gardening, and she rubbed them along her skirt to clean them, giving Lancelot a rueful look.

"You look beautiful today." He murmured, as his hand came up to smooth her hair yet again, the breeze tossing it about her head, and into her face.

"Stop taking the piss." Cerys admonished as she smacked his arm.

"No, I mean it..."

She stopped in mid bite and looked at him, her eyes misting, then almost as fast, clearing. She smiled at him softly and looked down at her hands. "How do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Make me feel beautiful after I have been rolling about in the dirt." She said, leaning on him, taking another bite of bread. She sighed. "These past few days we have both been busy, I am sorry we have not gotten more time together."

Lancelot nodded, putting his arm about her. They stayed like that, in the sunlight, quietly ab­sorbing each others presence. Lancelot with his head back on the wall, watching her, her watch­ing the activity around them. The both craved this quiet time, always had, but now, it was much more than that. He suddenly remembered coming home in the late summer last year, and sitting with her in the stable yard. He remembered her jesting about his feet.

He remembered how, for the first time, it had made him feel good to hear her say his name. Such a long time ago that was now. It felt like a lifetime ago, yet here they were, in much the same pose, needing much the same thing.

She had brought him comfort even then, before he had even admitted to himself that he loved her. Even when he was a young boy and he didn't understand why he felt the need to protect her. She had always been part of his life here. It had not been the same when she left. And it had not been the same in the seven or so years she had been back.

And now? So much more had been revealed to him this past winter. He was forever changed by it.

He rumbled a sigh from deep in his chest and shuffled closer to her. He reached down and rubbed the dirt off her cheek. She looked up at him and they brought their heads together. He kissed her lightly.

"You are always beautiful to me."

She folded herself into his arms and they fell silent again. Lancelot closed his eyes. Just for a moment, he thought, the sun was so relaxing on his tunic...

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

"Get up."

Lancelot blinked as his foot was kicked. He looked up groggily to Galahad, standing with his hands on his hips. Galahad kicked his outstretched foot again.

"Lazy arse, get up."

"What?" Lancelot grumbled. Cerys raised her head sleepily.

"Did we fall asleep here? Oh my..." She said as she hoisted herself up and brushed off her dress.

Galahad looked worried. Lancelot suddenly became awake, and he grabbed Galahad's out­stretched hand and lifted himself up.

"Where?" He asked bluntly as he straightened his tunic.

"Armoury."

"Is he..."

"No, but we are gathering. He's insisting on working." Galahad said testily, running a hand through his hair. "Something has to give, this is madness. He's not well..."

Cerys nodded and patted Lancelot's arm, her own eyes worried. He looked at her and she reached up, kissing his cheek.

"Go. I will see you tonight."

Lancelot nodded curtly to Galahad and they walked in stride towards the armoury.

Cerys watched them walk away, then stepped into the kitchens. It was time to gather the women up. They were in for another late night, if she had any inkling.

* * *

**Dear Reader:**

This one was fun to write. I brought my mare home from the breeders tonight and was in such a good mood that I thought I should post it tonight instead of tomorrow when I have more time!

Give your good luck charms and prayers to her, this is our second round at breeding, and if she catches, I get to be a grandma next year when the foal comes!

My mare Sonata has been with me since she was two years old, and this year she turned 16. She is my best girl, and even though we don't gallop together anymore, she and I have fun giving long grooming sessions to each other (I scratch her, she rubs her big soft lip on me in return). We used to compete together, and I hope to perhaps, if the baby doesn't sell, to show him or her as well! I used to rideSonata's father when I was younger, so this baby will be very special to me.

Ok, enough prattle for the night. I realize that I haven't said this in awhile, so...

May your pens never stop moving on the page!

_Cardeia_


	60. Spoiling for a Fight

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the character names, save my own original creations. I do not wish to be compensated for this work, nor do I wish to infringe on any copyrights held by any stakeholders of the movie King Arthur. This work is an original creation, based on the legend of King Arthur and his knights.

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**Scribe Notes:**

_Calliann:_ Grief, however painful it is, and however much it is horrible to go through, is a necessary part of life. I like to think that all these different things we go through in life, like grieving for a loved one, anxiety when we lose a job, stress when we are moving, the pain we feel for any of life's bumps, are all part of a bigger picture. They are all part of who we are. So, even if we don't want to feel the crappy emotion after something bad happens, we need to embrace these feelings, because without them, we would be one-dimensional beings. I am sorry for your loss of your brother-in-law. I know that his spirit is still alive, and your memories of him prove that.

_plzthx101_: Thank you! Yes, sometimes the world needs to be put on the back-burner for a little while, and we need to escape to a different world. Books, movies, stories that let us go to a different reality, explore a different way of looking at the world. Everyone needs escapism of some sort. That's why videoand role-playing games are so popular! I use my writing, and my movies, and a good book in the winter. I am so glad I am able to provide that for you, on some level.

_Ailis-70:_ You betcha, heeeeere we go! Lancelot can get caught up in his head if he is not careful, so he inadvertantly developed this habit out of his vain necessity to have his lion crest fixed. Only recently does he understand what it does for him, and now... he's got a career when he decides to stop chopping Saxons down! (grin) I think it suits him, because we see him working, but its not a silent hobby like whittling, or reading. Lancelot is an extrovert, and he needs a hobby where he moves, makes noise, expends energy.

I liked that scene too! I could see the chickens flying up from his feet as he ran, their clucking sending a cacaphony of sounds int othe air as the old woman screams "Git outta here!" and waves her broom. I can see him holding his pants up with both hands and high knee runnning away, shoulders bunched, head down and swearing! Just like the young guy who gets caught coming out of the daughter's room! (grin) That was a fun scene to write, and I may use it in another way for Dust Devils. Brinn could get into some trouble eh?

Here is the catalyst for you, and I think you already know what happens, you have it figured out already. (wink)

_Sea Cucumber:_ Here you go! The next one! And his ghosts are gonna get exorcised. No closet needed! (grin)

_lilstrummrgrl527:_ I am glad you found that funny! I can picture a mans brain. It says "Sex, eat, sleep...sex eat sleep...sex eat DRINK, sleep..." (wink)

Your hippie-lion is going to have a hard time of it yes, but I hope that this chapter works for you. 'Nuff said, enjoy!

_Melosine:_ Thinking with your fingers is awesome! I do it all the time with your stories. And I am glad that it was you to pick up on that thought that Lancelot had. You would understand what I wanted to say there, and you did! Nimli is sort of the fun girl, and we see her with Perceval saying "I don't want to settle yet". Their cavorting is mutual. But Lancelot used to be that way, and of course Nimli would be a conquest in that sense, and a happy one about it. But Cerys and Nimli are friends. Lancelot knows this, and I think, on some level, he is worried that it will upset Cerys if she knew, and cause a problem. I think Cerys is quite aware (wink). But I don't think it was ever a problem.

And you are right about Gawain. Something will happen to make him want to get better. A combination of a lot of things, actually. I hope that it works for you!

_Sokorra Lewis:_ It will be, and it's on its way! I really enjoyed writing Brinn calling Lancelot Da'. It felt right to me. Hey, congrats on getting The Golden Circle done! Way to go! Did I review it? So many stories... If I didn't I really apologize, I'm a week out of release at work and my mind has gone to mush (wink).

_gwenn0:_ You got it! Arthur needs to present the gift to Rhia! And it slipped his mind as well as mine! Good catch.

Lancelot has been such a fun study for me. Not really a study in infatuation, but more of a "what would he be like" kind of way. I tried to get into his head to explore the everyday things in life for him. It was very much fun dealing with his falling in love, and his thoughts when he decided to propose to Cerys. I think you will see how on the nose you were about Lancelot and Gawain in this chapter that I wrote about a week and a half ago. So many people have now said what is about to happen should, and I think its so wonderful that you can read my characters enough to predict this turn of events!

_Hypersquishy_: Great name! I love it. So fun! Here is part of what you can't wait to see and thank you for reviewing!

_A.K. Anonymous:_ Thanks for reviewing! My mare is a maiden this year and this is round two so we are crossing our fingers. She had a wonderful heat and three follicles that looked promising so this might do it! We find out on the 5th of August. True, mares can be such pains. I love my gelding, he's so even-tempered compared to her.

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**Chapter 60: _Spoiling for A Fight_**

"Leave me be!"

Lancelot and Galahad rounded the corner into the practice yard to see the Arthur, Bors, and Ganis with Gawain. Gawain had a short sword in his hands and was brandishing it at them, his face set hard and snarling, the men silently watching, trying to talk him out of whatever it was he wanted to do.

"Gawain, put the sword down."

"You shouldn't be working, take the day off."

"Gawain... please."

Some of the men at arms looked up as Lancelot and Galahad entered the yard, and wandered over to see what was going on. Gawain backed himself up against the wall.

"Leave me alone. Can't a man work his sword arm?"

Arthur grimaced and stepped forward, his hand out. Gawain swung at it, Arthur ducking back and swearing.

"Bloody hells, I've had it with this." Lancelot muttered, his face storming.

Lancelot waded his way into the men, pushing between Bors and Arthur and walked right up to Gawain, punching him soundly in the nose before Gawain could react. Blood sprayed up out of Gawain's face, sending him sprawling, the sword clattering to the ground.

Ganis darted in a scooped it up.

Gawain brought a hand to his nose, and then pulled it away, seeing the blood. Lancelot stood, seething, his hands balled into fists.

"Do you delight in making our lives a living hell?" He screamed at the downed man. "I was hav­ing a bloody nap with Cerys and I was interrupted by him." He gestured to Galahad, "That you were in here sulking away, and that he was worried you would hurt yourself."

Gawain blinked at him, but said nothing, his eyes furious.

"Come on then. I'm spoiling for a fight, I haven't been laid in three days and I am randier than a goat..." He stopped and pointed at Bors who had cleared his throat, "Don't you dare Bors."

Gawain snorted and Lancelot took a step forward to lean over him.

"I really, really want to kick the living snot out of you now. I told you I would stop being so nice."

The men were all silent behind Lancelot, most with mouths open and raised eyebrows. This was more like the old Lancelot, they hadn't seen him this way since he and Cerys had began court­ing. Arthur was suppressing a smile and a chuckle, but he was the only one to do so.

Gawain levered himself up and stood, his shoulders bunched.

"Leave me alone." He said as he turned his back to Lancelot and started to walk away, wiping at his face.

"Oh no you don't." Lancelot grabbed him by the arm, spun him about and squared his fist into Gawain's jaw.

Gawain staggered back, and then brought his hands up. They began moving about the practice yard, throwing fists at each other, sometimes connecting, dust from their feet, playing up into the air, settled on their sweaty arms and faces. Gawain grabbed Lancelot and threw him, Lancelot grabbed Gawain's tunic and put a knee to his stomach as they fell.

The two men thudded to the ground.

They began rolling about, grappling with each other, alternately swearing and grunting as they jabbed and lunged.

"You are such a bloody pompous ass." Gawain said between clenched teeth as he hoisted Lancelot back off of him and went to stand.

"And you are being a complete idiot." Lancelot shot back as he jumped at the man once more, punching him in the side. Tell us what is eating at you, for the love of the Gods."

"No." Gawain spat as he spun and lunged at Lancelot.

At this point, the cheers had started, and coins had changed hands. Arthur went to stand by Tris­tan, who had wandered in at the noise and stood, arms crossed, silently watching the fight un­fold.

"You got any ideas?" Arthur asked him, as he stood beside Tristan.

Tristan grunted and looked at a fingernail. "Let them. Eventually one of them will be knocked out and we can go back to work."

"I should go break them up." Arthur continued.

Tristan swatted at a bug and shifted his weight to the other leg. "Gawain needs a good beating." He said quietly, and pulled out a tiny dagger to begin cleaning his fingernails.

Arthur pursed his lips and went silent, turning back to the fight, his thoughts much the same. Perhaps he shouldn't have broken up that fight in the common that evening after all.

Lancelot had succeeded in getting back up, and the men were circling each other again. Lancelot threw out a punch, Gawain ducked it and came up with un undercut into Lancelot's side. Lance­lot grunted, and shoved his shoulder into Gawain's head. Both men sprawled forward onto the dirt again, and Gawain roared, flipping himself over.

"Come on Lion Cub, can't remember how to fight?" Lancelot taunted, picking himself up yet again.

Both men were covered in dirt and dust, blood running down through it in various areas, sweat mixing with it. They looked like they were, literally, rolling about in the dirt. Lancelot shook dust out of his hair, and pulled his tunic back down as he straightened.

"Don't call me that." Gawain spat, his breathing short. Lancelot stepped over and put a boot to his chest, leaning over to peer at Gawain, his arms crossed over his knee, an amused expression on his face.

"Lion..." Lancelot started.

Gawain spit into his face, interrupting him.

"Cub." Lancelot finished as he wiped it away and grinned devilishly.

Gawain struggled and yelled and beat at Lancelot's leg, but could not move under the pressure from it. Lancelot smirked as the men stood their distance, but laughed at the situation. Gawain gave them murderous looks. Most of the men became quiet, understanding that this was not just a drunken brawl or a disagreement between men.

Both of their chests were heaving, and blood ran freely from a cut on Lancelot's lip, dripping onto Gawain's blood-soaked tunic, his nose already swollen. Both of them had eyes that were beginning to swell. Gawain stilled for a few moments, realizing that he was pinned and defeat­ed.

"Wench." Gawain spat, but with less venom.

"Little girl." Lancelot said back, but this time with a smile.

"Let me up."

"No. Not until you agree to talk."

Gawain swallowed and turned his head, looking away. He blinked, and Lancelot realized he was on the verge of tears. That would not do. Losing a fight, that was one thing, but crying in front of your companions... that would get you ribbed.

That was the last thing this man needed.

Lancelot swiftly pulled his foot and jerked Gawain up by his tunic. They met face to face and Lancelot grabbed him about the neck, pretending to give him a companionable hug.

"Don't lose it now man, let's go to the baths and we can soak away the bruises we just gave each other." he whispered so no one could hear.

Gawain took in a breath and steadied himself. The men were talking quietly, coins changing hands yet again, and Arthur had made his way over to the two.

"All is well?" he asked cautiously, stooping to look in at Gawain's face.

Gawain nodded and Lancelot played his best smile, giving Gawain a tug about his neck with his still crooked arm.

"All is well. A good fight always sets it right, eh Gawain?"

Arthur made a noise in his throat and eyed the pair warily. Lancelot knew Arthur didn't believe a word of it, but he hoped that he would just let it slide.

"Go see Dafydd and get cleaned up."

Gawain nodded again and the two embattled men limped out of the practice yard, holding each other up. Galahad pulled a hand down over his tired face as he watched them go.

"Well, that was unexpected." he said.

Murmurs from the crowd echoed him, and they dispersed back to their original chores. Each of the knights looked to one another, silently understanding what Lancelot had just tried to do.

Each of them hoped that in some way, it had worked.

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Gawain sat in the water and let one of the attendant women dab some disgustingly smelly tisane on his nose. She hummed as she worked. Lancelot sat on the other side, a cloth with some equally distasteful herb infusion being held to his lip. The woman patted his head and winked at him, and she left him with the cloth. He smiled past the cloth and fished in his coin purse at the edge of the pool and handed her one. She nodded and went away.

The other woman tutted and lifted her cloth to poke at Gawain.

"You are careless." She said.

Gawain grunted. "Tell that to the fists over there." He raised his hand out of the water and point­ed to Lancelot.

Lancelot chuckled and raised his hand in salute. Gawain endured the ministrations for a few more moments, and then jerked his head away. "Leave us. I will see Dafydd later."

The woman nodded, gathered up her things and padded silently out of the bath chamber.

For a few more moments, the only sound was the dripping condensation, and the sounds of wa­ter splashing as Lancelot moved his toes out in front of him in the water.

"Cerys will be proud of me, two baths in one day." He said good-naturedly.

Gawain looked at his friend. He had just had a knock-down drag-out fight, and he was thinking about his lover? Strange things had happened to this man since he fell in love.

"Bathing for a woman. What's next? Picking flowers and poems?" He grunted. Lancelot raised an eyebrow and splashed his hand out towards Gawain, sending ripples in the water over to lap at his chest.

"Glorious sex, that's what's next. Women love a clean man. You would be surprised what Cerys likes to do when I've..."

Gawain gave him a strangling noise and interrupted him. "Lancelot! I do not need to know these things about Cerys!"

Lancelot chuckled and continued with his splashing.

Gawain closed his eyes and leaned back against the edge of the baths. He was tired. More than tired, he was... he was ready to just hand it all in. He didn't want to carry this guilt anymore. He was tired of thinking...

He was tired of everything.

He heard the splashing getting closer and felt the water lap on his chest harder as Lancelot moved over beside him.

"Alright Gawain. I really meant it, I have had enough. It's time you told what happened out there."

Gawain opened his eyes and regarded Lancelot, standing beside him. He could see Lancelot's face was set, his eyes hard, his arms crossed. He would not get away this time.

It was time to unload these memories, and maybe he could get back to living without it dragging him down into this pit he felt he was trapped in. He just wanted to be free of it. The past three days were making him so beaten down, angry and ready to just jump off the wall. He didn't want to be babysat anymore.

He was tired, but he was also tired of being tired.

He realized that it made no sense, what his mind was circling around and he growled lowly, hit­ting his hands out into the water, seemingly striking at nothing. He scowled, turning it over again in his mind. Lancelot waited him out.

Gawain made his decision, and turned to look at Lancelot. He took a deep breath.

"What do you want to know?"

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**Dear Reader:**

(ducks the flying tomatoes) Ok... ok.. I know I'm going to get the "AHH DON'T END IT THERE!" reviews for this one, but I hope that it gets you thinking. I am interested to see the hypotheses of what Gawain is going to say!

This chapter I had written awhile ago, and a few people have said "Lancelot needs to do this..." and I smile and shake my head. You know my characters so well! It makes me happy to know that you have read, understood, and tried to think about what happens. I hope that it has inspired you as much as it has me.

So now I am going to go retire to my room, curl up in the corner of my bed and work for awhile. Thank you everyone who has reviewed, and given me food for thought, inspiration for words, and laughter to keep everything in focus.

Tomorrow I got into the dentist for the firt step in a new crown for my front tooth. Ugh... root canals and freezing. But my smile will be better for it. Wish me luck!

_Cardeia_


	61. A Helping Hurt

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the character names, save my own original creations. I do not wish to be compensated for this work, nor do I wish to infringe on any copyrights held by any stakeholders of the movie King Arthur. This work is an original creation, based on the legend of King Arthur and his knights.

* * *

**Scribe Notes:**

All: It's been so hectic at work, and I just had to get these up this weekend, driving me nuts... Thankfully I have two weeks before my spa vacation! So I apologize if I am late reviewing your chapters, for those who I am reviewing. I get to be at work on a holiday monday tomorrow, and was at work all day today! Blach...

On to comments:

_ElvenStar5:_ I'm sorry I didn't get these up before you went to Spain. I hope your vacation was wonderful! It sounds so exciting! I hope that these chapters were not what you were guessing at all. (grin)

_Calliann_: Dial up is horrid. You are right, it was much more suited to Lancelot's style. He had mentioned it before, and so we finally see it. I;m so glad I made you laugh with that comment! It was the perfect opportunity to exploit Bors' nickname for Lancelot. I hope these chapters are a surprise for you, and you enjoy!

_Ailis-70_: I had this next chapter written from three different ways. I looked again at all three after I got your review. the one that is posted is a compilation of two of them. You made me think about what I wanted to portray and it really gave me a chance to slash and burn the c hapter I originally wanted to post. I hope this one works better. You made a lot of sense, and thank you for that!

And yes he does. I have a picture of Ioan with bare feet and jeans... yum... sexy piggies indeed. He had big wide flat feet... I have officially crossed over to the "pathetic" side, I think... (grin)

_Elsfire:_ Thanks for reviewing! Go for whatever inspiration you can get from my story! That is a great benefit of this forum. Write away! Let me know when you have it posted!

_Hypersquishy:_ He is going to talk about Gareth, err... he did talk about Gareth. So glad I made you laugh, its important to laugh when there is drama. It centres you.

_Mlle. Opera Ghost_: Thanks for reviewing! Summer is a horrid time to try and dedicate to writing, especially if you go on vacation, have outdoor hobbies etc. Me, I am stuck at work on a gorgeous long weekend! Here are your updates, and I hope you enjoy very much.

_lilstrummrgrl527_: The lines in this chapter were historic in nature, I'll admit. I really played on some of the character traits here and took them to silly levels. It was so much fun to give them a fight scene where they just end up spitting names at each other. Yes, Gawain's other reaction would be just that. (grin)

And I am obsessive too, it comes with the territory. Even though these are characters from a movie, they feel like mine completely.

_Cricket05:_ thank you! Wow, in one sitting? Amazing! I find Lancelot easy to write, but Tristan harder. The easiest is Bors, and Gawain and Galahad I feel like they are in the middle. I had no clue how to tackle Dag, so he got left out this time. In Dust Devils, he's back. I thought about him for awhile, and I think I can "get" him now. Thanks so much for your review!

_annependragon:_ So glad you love it! I am looking for other forums for Fan Fiction, although I have little time to post on this one as it is! (Grin). But let me know where it is and I'll check it out!

_Melosine:_ Just like Ailis-70, you review got me thinking, and I hacked and slashed between three renditions to get the next chapter. You made me think about where we have gone with this side-plot and where we need to go from here, so the next two chapters are really a conglomeration of what you and Ailis-70 made me think about.

I hope it works.

_gwenn0:_ Part of this next chapter is your fault too. Women-gossip indeed! Humour is important and I am glad you found it. Here are the next two chapters for you! I really do hope it is not what you expected.

_Sokorra Lewis_: YAY! Do it, I can't wait to read more of your word limit segments! You should do one based on the legend of Gawain and the Green Knight! That is his biggest part of Arthurian legend. I'm sorry I didn't review. It's starred in my inbox to do it as soon as I have a few spare moments.

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**Chapter 61: _A Helping Hurt_**

Wynn poked Cerys in the shoulder. Cerys looked up from her dinner plate at Wynn with a ques­tioning look, chewing slowly.

"Hmm?"

"There's your man, looks like he's been into it." She murmured into her ear, pointing.

Cerys looked up to where Wynn was pointing and saw Lancelot come into the hall, looking about. She noticed right away that he had a bruised eye, and his lip was swollen. His fists were bruised as well, and he was walking quite stiffly.

She got up. He looked like he had been tossed about but good. She felt a wave of concern, but then a bit of amusement. When he had left her by the kitchens he had been so mad he could have spit arrowheads. This must be the result of that anger. She wondered who took the other brunt of it, and if they looked worse than he did. She assumed Gawain, but with those men, one never knew.

She hoped whoever it was, that they hadn't been the loser, he looked bad enough.

"What in the name of the Gods happened to you?" She asked, her voice rising.

The rest of the women turned in their seats, eyes widening on all of them as they saw him. Lancelot reached her and he folded her into an embrace, kissing the top of her head and then resting his forehead there. He sighed heavily and squeezed her for a heartbeat. She squeezed back.

She could feel his sadness radiating off of him, but she also felt that he was... more relaxed. And he smelled good. Especially for a man who had just obviously been sweating it out with his fists raised. She rubbed his back softly and heard him sigh quietly then.

"You've had another bath."

He nodded against the top of her head, kissed it and released her. She raised her eyebrows and tilted her head.

"Well? What happened?" She repeated, crossing her arms.

"Got into a fight."

"With who?" Lorina asked, stepping up beside him, reaching out to touch his eye. "That should be looked at."

He swatted at her and smiled tiredly. "It's fine woman, do you poke at Bors this way as well?"

Lorina snorted and lifted his eyebrow with her finger, and shook her head. "With the amount of black eyes that man brings home, yes. He's had many. But, that's a shiner... my word..."

The women were all now gathered around him, Lorina peering critically at his face, Wynn pick­ing up a hand to look at his bruised knuckles, Cerys still with her arms folded, watching the two women poking at him. Nimli bit into a date and tried not to laugh behind her hands, while Dory stood back further, chewing on her lip, fiddling with the sleeve of her dress.

Guinevere had gone to fetch him a cold cloth and a cup of wine, and was waddling back towards them, her amply cut dress swaying with her effort. Cerys was trying as hard as Nimli not to laugh, and they shared an amused look as the women administered their examination.

Cerys knew that normally this would be cause for flirting and jesting. But he wasn't rising to the bait. She wondered at just what happened and went back to slightly concerned from amused. Of course he would tell her at some point. She studied his face.

He was tired. And something else...

"Please, it was just a few fists." He admonished, raising his hands, trying to fend them off. Lancelot felt much too tired after what had happened to take advantage of this right now. Much to his lament. He would have to rib Bors about Lorina fondling him.

Later...

Now he wanted to sit, have a drink and have something to eat. Then he had to find Arthur.

Cerys reached out and caressed his lip lightly with her fingers.

"Just a few fists?" She asked quietly. "If it was, you wouldn't have a mark on you, and you know it."

He sighed and took the cloth and cup from Guinevere's outstretched hands. He nodded to her as he folded the cloth and put it to his lip. "Can we sit? I'm beyond hungry."

Cerys led him over to a cushion. The women all settled themselves back to their own, and they all went quiet, staring at him, waiting.

He should have just gone to find Arthur instead of trying to find her. He should have known she would be with the women. He rustled through her plate with his fingers, finding some meat and popped it into his mouth. Then he replaced the cloth on his lip. The coolness of it was soothing, and he held it there as he chewed.

"What?" he said as he looked around him, at their expectant faces.

"You cannot just walk into a room with women, all banged up, and expect us to just continue our conversations! Out with it!" Guinevere admonished, setting her cup down on the table with a thwack. It was her turn to cross her arms and look at him, resting them across her swollen bel­ly, her eyes sparkling despite her outburst.

Lancelot sighed and caught Cerys' eyes. She nodded, and twitched her lips. "Yes, please do tell us who gave you that lovely shiner."

"Gawain did." He muffled through the cloth.

The women murmured. He hadn't broken his gaze with Cerys, and she nodded once, the reali­zation dawning. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Dory's hand going to her mouth.

"Is he... " Dory asked quietly, almost whispering. Cerys turned her gaze to Dory, in case she needed to be comforted.

"He's fine Dory. He's in the baths with Galahad."

The women went silent then. All thinking much the same thing. Gawain was hurting. Cerys shifted closer to Lancelot and pulled his hand with the cloth away from his lip, taking the cloth from him.

"Did it help?" She asked, picking up one of his hands and putting the cloth across the knuckle. She looked concerned and her brow was furrowed. He watched her a moment. He had not want­ed to tell her about this until they were alone.

Lancelot ran his other hand through his hair, then down his face tiredly, wincing as he hit his eye. He picked up his cup, swirled the contents and studied it for a moment, furrowing his brow and biting his lip. Cerys leaned in at him, her eyes trying to catch him.

He looked up and caught them.

"Yes."

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

"Come."

Lancelot pushed the door open with his hand and ducked in the door. Arthur looked up from his drawings, a bit of charcoal smudged across his cheek. One hand held a drawing stick, the other held his drawing square. The edges of the lambskin were held down with rocks.

"Look at you." Arthur remarked.

Lancelot gave Arthur a withering look and then lifted the corner of his mouth. "You have char­coal on your face."

Arthur smiled, set his drawing tools down and wiped his cheeks with both hands. "Come see this."

Lancelot walked over behind Arthur and peered over his shoulder at the lambskin. He looked at the drawing. A bunch of arches and some measurements greeted him. He squinted. Cerys had been after him to learn more Latin. He really should take her up on that. He had no idea what Arthur was showing him.

Next winter, he thought. They would have time then.

"What is it?" He asked finally, after giving up guessing in his head.

"It's an aqueduct for the south pastures, man! Can't you see the arches and the trough?" Arthur said irritably pulling the lambskin towards them. Lancelot tilted his head to get a better view of it.

He put a hand on Arthur's shoulder to lean in and pointed at part of the drawing.

"What's that bit for?"

"That is to connect the edge of the stream to go down into that valley this way." Arthur replied tracing the picture with his finger, then pointing down off the map to the right.

The two men looked at it a few more moments, Lancelot asking questions, Arthur explaining parts. Lancelot sighed. This was interesting but...

Enough delay. He had other things to talk about with his friend.

"I need to speak with you about Gawain."

Arthur rolled his head on his shoulders. He gestured to the other chair at the table and Lancelot sat, folding his hands over his chest as he flung one leg over the arm. Lancelot hated chairs. Un­comfortable things, very Roman. Give him a cushion or a stool any day. He shifted a bit.

"You went to the baths?" Arthur asked, pushing a goblet at him and reaching back to where a pitcher of wine was sitting on a sideboard.

Lancelot nodded slowly, and tipped the goblet forward to allow Arthur to splash some wine into it. "Galahad is with him now, or at least was."

"Ahh."

"He talked, Arthur."

Arthur raised his eyebrows then, and set the pitcher down. "So your little demonstration in the armoury yard worked?"

Lancelot chuckled then, and ran a hand lightly over his eye. He took a sip of his wine and cleared his throat.

"I think so, at least he explained what happened." Lancelot said, then shifted again in the chair. "How do you sit on these damned things?"

"Not like that..." Arthur said absently, taking a drink from his goblet. "What did happen? Did he explain the scars or why he was so sick when we found Gareth...well... the first time?"

Lancelot nodded again and looked up at Arthur. Arthur watched the pain flash through his friend's eyes for a moment. He sat back against the chair and waited.

"It was like we thought. He was captured with Gareth, and they tortured both of them for days. Remember we thought the wounds might be burn marks?"

"Yes, we best figured that he was stabbed with heated metal, I remember Dafydd clucking about them." Arthur leaned forward then, resting his elbows on the arms of his chair. "But... that's not all, surely?"

"No. True to Gareth's nature, he fought them with all he was worth. They deemed this 'honourable', if this situation could call for anything like that, and that's when they..."

Lancelot swallowed then and looked away, thinning his lips, clenching the goblet in his hands hard, his knuckles white, his jaw muscles popping. Arthur looked down as well, turning his own drink in his hands. Both men were silent for a few moments. That part for them was recent, and Lancelot did not need to explain further.

It was getting dark, and Arthur suddenly rose and grabbed a desk lantern. He stepped out the door and held it to one of the wall torches to light it, returning back to the desk and setting it with a thud in the middle.

Then, Arthur began to pace. Lancelot watched him, sipping his drink.

"They made him watch didn't they?"

"Yes."

"Why didn't he tell us?" Arthur shot out angrily, his fists clenched. He whirled towards Lance­lot. "We could have helped him years ago!"

"He couldn't remember at first, and as the memories came back, well..." Lancelot shrugged in his seat, turning his head back to look at Arthur. "I think he felt ashamed that he couldn't save him."

Arthur made an angry noise and started pacing again. As he passed, Lancelot held his goblet up for him. Without looking, Arthur took it out of his hands and took an angry sip. He spun and started back the other way.

"That's when the nightmares started." He muttered as he walked, his cup again turning in his hand.

Lancelot merely nodded. Arthur paced silently for a few moments, and Lancelot watched him. The pacing was, at this moment, rather irritating, and he wanted him to stop. What was done was done, and now they had to figure out how best to help their friend.

"Do you have a groove worn in the floor yet?" Lancelot peered down from his seat.

Arthur stopped, his back to his friend. Despite the serious conversation they were having, he twisted his lips, trying not to smile. "Not yet."

Arthur's shoulders slumped then, and he turned. "Damn... Lancelot...If only..." He trailed off, his hand coming out from his side, gesturing, then dropping listlessly.

The two men stared at each other. Lancelot grimaced again, and they shared a look. They didn't need to voice it. They were both thinking the same thing.

All these years, and finally he had broken when he couldn't shut the memories out anymore. Not with drink, not with distraction of women, not even with the Valerian Galahad had been putting in his drink for the last little while.

Lancelot wondered if it would have been the case had they not been given the chance to set on that rogue band of Saxons, and bring Gareth home for good.

"Do you think this is going to get him over the hump?" Arthur finally asked, as he sat back on his chair, and leaned heavily on the table.

Lancelot grimaced. "I don't know, but... Let's hope so."

A few more moments of quiet echoed between them. Lancelot finished his wine and set the gob­let back down on the table. Arthur fiddled with his drawing square. The table lantern flame snapped and sent sparks into the air, and both men jumped, pulling them out of their individual thoughts. Arthur ran a hand down his face.

"Did he talk about the camp attack?" Arthur asked, breaking the silence.

"Yes."

"Did I do the right thing, Lancelot?"

Lancelot looked down at his hands, then raised his head to look Arthur square in the eye.

"I don't know, old friend... but…"

Arthur finished his thought for him.

"Let's hope so."

* * *

**Dear Reader:**

Lancelot got a thorough examination didn't he? And a chance to let the women breathe a sigh of relief. They were gathered, as we already know, to wait. The past four days have been hard on them, just as much as the men.

All of us have doubts, and Arthur has been plagued by them every since he allowed Gawain to take that mad chieftans life. Hopefully now that Gawain has let the memory out by talking, it will be better. Sometimes silent companionship can do wonders, and I think that there have been many instances of Arthur and Lancelot doing just that. Drinking, thinking, and randomly spitting out thoughts into the quiet between them. They know each other well, and I can imagine them sitting, not even looking at each other and thinking the same thing.

That is what close friends are like, and what they can do for each other. that is why Lancelot, in a way, searched Arthur out, not so much to give him an update, but just to... sit and think with him. I hope I got that across.

On to the next chapter, which may be a new point-of-view, and one I hope you enjoy hearing from!

_Cardeia_


	62. Apologies Not Needed

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the character names, save my own original creations. I do not wish to be compensated for this work, nor do I wish to infringe on any copyrights held by any stakeholders of the movie King Arthur. This work is an original creation, based on the legend of King Arthur and his knights.

* * *

**Chapter 62: _Apologies Not Needed_**

Dory sat in Galahad and Gawain's rooms and fussed with her skirts. She had brought back their laundry, folded it twice, put it away in each of their trunks, then pulled it out and put it away again.

Then she had swept the floors...

And lit the lanterns...

Finally, she had sat and simply fussed, and waited.

She looked around the rooms. Tidy. Without the armour and weapons in it, there had been much more floor space. She sighed. She enjoyed living in the women's quarters, but it was much nicer to wake up beside Galahad every morning. It was nice to pretend that she had her own rooms with him. He had even let her decorate them a bit, and she had enjoyed the way he had smiled and touched everything she brought in, appreciating it.

But she was having a hard time not feeling guilty about adding to Gawain's distress. True, he was mourning Gareth long before she had ever known them, but she had been distracting Gala­had from helping his brother, and she knew that hadn't helped, no matter what the other women had told her. She had seen his irritation lately, with the things she brought into their rooms.

She bit her lip. She was waiting for Galahad to come back from wherever he was with his broth­er, and she would apologize to him. After Lancelot had come into the hall and ate with them, she had quietly slipped out herself, begging a headache, and come straight there, to their rooms.

At least she wanted to apologize to him. She wasn't sure what she was going to say yet.

She heard the door open and stood, smoothing her skirts nervously. Gawain stepped wearily into the room.

"Gawain?" She said hesitantly. He looked horrible. Both eyes were blacked, his nose was swol­len, his lip also cut. He was limping.

"Dory?" He asked, as he dragged himself over to his bed and flopped onto it with a groan.

He fished out beside him and found the wineskin that Cerys had given him for Winter Solstice and shook it. Sensing that it was empty, he dropped it to the floor and let his arm flop.

"Have you seen Dafydd?" She asked quietly, and she stepped over to him and bent down to look at his face. He was a mess. She took a step back from him, to give herself more space. He didn't smell drunk for once, which surprised her a little.

"No. See'm in the morning." Gawain muffled from the bedding, his cheek resting on his hand, one eye open as much as it could to regard her. "What're you doing in here?"

She averted her eyes and looked at the ground. "I was... was... putting away yours and Galahad's laundry. I'll go and leave you in peace."

Dory rose, and his hand came out. She looked down and saw Gawain rising up off the bed, his fingers wrapped around her wrist.

"Don't." He mumbled. "Stay with me until Galahad comes back."

Dory didn't know what to do. She should go and find Dafydd and bring him here... She should go and find Galahad.

"Alright."

Gawain sat up and she sat on the bed next to him. His lip had opened and it was bleeding again, and he put his finger on it, hissing when he contacted fresh wound.

"Damn..." He swore, making her jump.

Dory darted for the wash basin. She put her fingers around it and turned, hefting it up. "I'll go get water."

She bolted from the room.

At the well, she stopped to catch her breath. She hated being so shy around people! She could only ever really be herself around Galahad, and now Lorina, and she was beginning to feel more at ease with the rest of the women. Cerys had always been so nice to her...

But she was still painfully shy, and now, with Gawain acting so strangely and being to unpre­dictable, she felt very self-conscious around him. She wanted Galahad right then. She needed his strength.

And Gawain needed water. She dipped the well bucket in, realizing that she brought the basin and not their smaller room bucket.

"Dory, you don't think." She chastised herself, leaning her hands on the edge of the well.

"I'm sorry if I scared you."

Dory jumped again and Gawain was standing behind her, the bucket in his hands. She tucked some hair behind her ear and swallowed.

"It's... It's alright." She wavered.

Gawain walked up to her and handed her the bucket. She took it from him. He looked so tired and sore and... sad. She felt the tears welling. Why was she crying?

Gawain stood and looked at her. He blinked slowly and made a noise in his throat.

"Gods Dory, why are you always so sensitive?"

The tears fell. She dashed at them with her hands. She lowered her head and stared at her feet, wishing that the world would open and swallow her.

He sighed and reached a hand to her. "I apologize, that was rude..."

"I'm sorry." She whispered, cutting him off.

"For what?" He asked tiredly, taking the bucket back from her and proceeding to fill it. He picked up their basin in one hand, the bucket in the other and then turned to her. "You have noth­ing to be sorry for."

"I..." She started. She looked up at him. "I'm sorry for what happened to you, and that I have taken your brother away from you..."

He put the bucket down, and then the basin. He stood, and from what she could see in the moon­light, he shook his head.

"Oh Dory..." He reached out his hand then, and pulled her by the arm closer to him. "You ha­ven't taken him from me."

"But... He should be with you and..."

Gawain put an arm around her shoulders. She sniffed and looked at him. He smiled as best he could through his swollen lip and she smiled despite herself. He felt different. He felt more re­laxed than he had in awhile. Maybe this fight he had with Lancelot had helped him somehow. She hoped so. She had been very worried, and had become scared of him when he had gone into this tortured state.

He picked up the basin, handing it to her and then he picked up their bucket.

"But nothing. You are not the cause of this Dory." he said as they walked back towards the room.

"What is, Gawain? I... You are scary when you are like this." She looked away as she said it. She didn't want to make him mad. Especially right now when he was obviously hurting so much. She felt like she was being very forward with him.

He sighed, and her statement was met with silence.

They made it into the room and he closed the door. He sat back on the bed and began cleaning his lip, but Dory stopped him and took over. She always felt a bit more at ease when she had something to do with her hands, and this was an opportunity to help him, and keep herself busy. After a few moments of quiet between them, she felt a little more at ease and gathered her cour­age.

"I just feel badly that I have been in here, and... and it's your room." She said as she wrung out the cloth and wiped at his face. She stopped as he put a hand on hers.

"These are our rooms Dory, not just mine."

"But… the pottery, and the wall hangings. I thought this all bothered you."

"I wouldn't want it any other way. I know I've been an ass. I have a lot of making up to do."

She bowed her head and looked at the water in the basin. What was she supposed to say to that?

"I'm glad you like them."

"It doesn't matter if I do or not. He loves you, Dory, so we come to a compromise."

Dory gasped, her nervousness forgotten for a moment. Gawain had just said... She dropped the cloth back into the water and brought her hand to her mouth.

"What?" Gawain asked. "What did I say?"

"He..." She stopped.

Galahad had never told her that he loved her. True, she loved him, more than anything. But he had never told her that he loved her. She had never said it either, thinking it much too forward.

But somehow, hearing someone else say that he did, made her feel very happy.

"He loves me?" She finished quietly, her lips forming a smile behind her hand.

"Who loves who?" Came a voice from behind them.

Dory turned at the sound of Galahad's voice, and all but flew into his arms, burying her head into his shoulder. He lifted her back from him to look at her and she kissed his nose. He wrinkled it and brought his finger to hers, poking it softly.

She smiled. Her strength was here, and her shyness melted away. She cuddled up to him. Gala­had looked over at his brother, raising an eyebrow. Gawain grimaced through his puffy face and lifted his hands. Galahad waved him off, their sign language mutually apologizing and forgiving for the slip of tongue.

"Take her for a walk brother. I can manage here I think." Gawain said as he fished the cloth out of the basin once more.

Galahad pulled her out by the hand and closed the door. He stopped, smiled, and brought his hand up to her face.

"And do you?" He asked as he brought her close to him, his large blue eyes searching hers.

"Do I what?" She asked, her hands on his chest, softly grabbing at the cloth, fingers winding around the laces left untied and dangling.

He bent his head down slowly and kissed her lightly on the lips. She softened against him, and his arms tightened around her. She let out a soft moan. She had needed that more than anything. Any nervousness she had vanished completely then.

She didn't have to apologize to him anymore. It was a great relief... and... Gawain had said that Galahad loved her. Her heart leapt.

:Dory, I love you. I should have told you that a long time ago." He murmured, his lips hovering over hers.

"Galahad..." she whispered. "I... I love you as well."

He smiled against her lips then and kissed her once more, his hands running up and down her back. Then, he whirled her out from him, and laughed. Dory giggled along with him and she spun in his grasp, coming back to rest against his chest once more, her hair floating out around her, her arms flying around his neck.

He pushed it back from her face and his face got serious again. Dory furrowed her brow.

"Is he going to be alright?" She asked then, quietly disentangling herself from him.

"Yes. He's going to be fine now. It may take time, but..." Galahad replied. "Let's not talk on that now; I have spent the past four days with him, and not with you, where I wanted to be."

"I'm sorry." She said softly and kissed his cheek. "Have you eaten?" She asked then, as they walked arm in arm towards the common.

Galahad shook his head. "No."

"Let's stop by the kitchens. We can filch some bread perhaps."

They wandered over, and noticed a soft light coming from inside. Dory ducked in, and then quickly ran out, a blush rapidly spreading on her face that even Galahad could see in the moon­light. Galahad gave her a quizzical look, and stuck his head in.

Sitting on the table with her back to the doorway was Cerys, her legs wrapped around Lancelot's waist. They were completely lost to the world in each other.

Galahad smiled as Lancelot carefully slid Cerys' dress off her shoulder and bent his head to kiss the exposed skin.

Galahad silently backed out the doorway.

"Let's try the common then, eh?" He offered, and Dory giggled, taking his hand.

Galahad mused to himself, as they made their way over to the common that perhaps the men would need to work out some sort of schedule for the kitchens soon, if this kept up. He looked over at Dory. He skin was so pretty in the moonlight, and he eyes danced happily as they laughed over their discovery. He wondered if she would ever consider...

He stopped himself. He had been away from her for too long. He sort of understood where Lancelot had been coming from earlier in the armoury.

He knew she was shy, and nervous around other people. She wasn't really very adventuresome, nor would she take well to the idea of being walked in on, as they had just done to someone else.

He also knew how caring she was, how sweet she could be to everyone around her, how much fun she had making their rooms nicer...

He was sorry that Gawain had troubled her mind so much, especially finding that scale on his bed. He hoped now that his brother had finally been able to share his memories that they could get back to normal.

Normal.

Normal would not be what he wanted unless Dory was with him.

He stopped, and she looked at him, tilting her head. He decided, right then and there. He should have asked this a long time ago.

"Dory?"

"Galahad?" She replied.

"Move in with us."

Dory threw her arms around him once more and laughed, kissing his face all over.

'I take it that's a yes then?" He asked once she had finished.

"Yes."

* * *

**Dear Reader:**

I had to bring some closure to Dory and Galahad, so this chapter was for them.

I wrote Dory as feeling very guilty for keeping Galahad from Gawain, and the only way that would reconcile is if Gawain told her otherwise. She felt that she was encroaching in a time ofneed for the brothers, andshe felt like she was creating more of a problem. She may have in some way, but because Gawain can see with a clearer head now, I wanted him to tell her he was sorry, and to tell her it was alright. All those things that happened, her finding the scale, Gawain tipping the table over... it's scary for her, she cares for him, he's her love's brother! And she is easily upset by confrontation.

I also realized that I never really explained why Dory loved Galahad, so hopefully this helps a bit. He is her strength. She isn't shy around him, never was. And he makes her laugh, makes her feel special with his actions. So for her, he is comfort and.. well... her rock!

And he finally tells her he loves her with words, not just actions. Sometimes a couple can go years without saying it, just understanding by the way they are with each other that it is love. But... the words are still needed every now and then. And when Gawain tells her that he loves her, its a surprise, since she knows, yet has never been 'told'. that plus she is shy and nervous around him, seeing as he was in a grand funk of late.

Ahh.. now on to the wedding right? Very exciting... Since I have yet to have one of my own, you can be this will be my very own fantasy, with exactly what Cerys and Lancelot would have wanted thrown in for good measure! (grin).

Thank you for your insight into my characters. Your ideas help me see them easier, and bring this story out in ways I had not thought. Your reviews keep me motivated. Truly, I feel that I have not written this alone. You have all helped me to shape my words, and for that, you deserve credit as well. None of the characters in this story would be who they are today without you.

So I thank you for helping me breathe life into Cerys and her friends. She is alive in my heart, and I hope she is in yours as well. As I have said sometimes as I tote my laptop about the house, settling to write... "It's time to get into my inner-Cerys again!"

_Cardeia_


	63. Revenge of the Bachelors

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the character names, save my own original creations. I do not wish to be compensated for this work, nor do I wish to infringe on any copyrights held by any stakeholders of the movie King Arthur. This work is an original creation, based on the legend of King Arthur and his knights.

* * *

**Scribe Notes:**

_All:_ I'm back! The spa was wonderful, although I think I may be the type of girl who prefers facials and such to full body treatments. Being painted with moor mud by a man with Halitosis isn't really al lthat relaxing. Ah well, my skin feels great! On to comments:

_Calliann:_ I promise to get to your reviews for Priestesses this evening. I am still catching up. I read them and I am thinking that you ahve taken such a neat turn.

I am glad you enjoyed Dory. I wanted to bring her out a bit more and give her and Galahad some closure for this story.

So I have added a couple of chapters beforethe wedding, but I really hope you enjoy them. The weddingchapter is still in the works and I have two more after this one before it. I really wanted to sew things up a bit. these were really fun chapters to write and they gave me such a fun idea, combining all my experiences with fellow friends tieing the knot.

_ElvenStar5:_ So glad I made you say wow so many times! I hope your vacation is wonderful, and here are some updates for you when you get back. I always thought that men who lived in such upheaval would react so strongly to things such as this. Live hard, love hard, feel hard.

_annalon:_ Thanks for reviewing! I am heartened that you feel my story has been an influence on your life. Yes, friends who know each other best do not need words, and sometimes just being there is enough. Arthur and Lancelot, all the knights really, would spend hours upon hours together. So it stands to reason they would learn to be comfortbale in each others silence, spending so much time on the road on horses. Talking can get tiresome, you would think (grin).

_lilstrummrgrl527:_ I too fidget when talking about important things, and pace when on the phone. I also doodle when in meetings at work, and I find I absorb more. I thought Dory would find it easier to focus her attention on something other than her shyness to help her through situations. I think it fit her well.

I loved your review of chapter 61. You caught so many of the small points that I put in to make people go "hmmm" and I am very happy you got them. You always seem to!

And please do not worry, I have plans to make Gawain happy. Wait and see, it will be wonderful.

_Sokorra Lewis:_ I saw Char too... really I did. the look he gives Ella in that movie makes your heart go nuts. His eyes are very expressive too, but I love the way he softens his whole body when he is looking that way at a woman ina role. I am about to pick up my ordered copy of The Sleeping Dictionary. I can't wait to see that!

And alas a few more chapters before the wedding yet. I got inspired (grin).

_Ailis-70:_ So glad you liked the chapter with Dory and Gawain. I wanted to make sure that she knew he was alright with her being there. And this way it gives some closure to Galahad and Dory. I enjoyed writing that chapter, bringing her out more. Shes interesting to me, almost likethe woman I left behind so many years ago when I walked out of an abusive relationship. I left my shy introverted self on teh floor of his room, and left my low self esteem on the doormat to his house as I slammed the door. So even though Dory has endearing qualities about her with this shyness, that was me, and one that I shed to be the woman I am today, much more improved and glad that I was able to experience that metamophosis. And now to remember it in Dory is very cathartic.

I had to have Lancelot tell Arthur in a way, no details of course. Arthur would want to know and would have seeked him out anyways, but this way, they can talk about it man to man. this affected Lancelot as well, and for him, having Gawain talk and remember was almost as releasing for Lancelot. Arthur cares very deeply for all his men and I wanted to get that across as well. I hoep I did.

So I decided on a few more chapters before the wedding, and I really hope these make you laugh! they were so much fun to write.

_Melosine:_ Yes, Dory can help Gawain too. I think there is that element of partnership. She is close to him by default, practially living in the rooms, and a friendship could evolve there that is akin to Tristan and Cerys. At least I hope so.

_gwenn0:_ Your snippets are so awesome and I loved them! Everyone needs to go see them! 100 word poetry almost, and you english is great.

You got why he went to Arthur. He needed to know, but the other reason was that he needed to organize his head and Arthur can help him. You made sense with the Brain/heart thing. Totally.

And I am thrilled you liked Dory's chapter. She really is intrigueing to me and I may use her again in the future in other stories. See Ailis-70' response above for more on how I see her. I think many women out there are like her, and I was like her as well, once.

_Cricket05_: Hey! Thanks for reviewing! yes, sweet release when you can finally say the words. Sometimes the words are really needed, no? I hope you enjoy the next couple of chapters!

_Elsfire:_Ahh south of France. You are making a Canadian girl jealous over here! (grin) I just got back from my vacation so I will have a look at your story soon, I promise!

thanks to all for reviewing and here are the next two chapters of fun!

* * *

**Chapter 63: _Revenge of the Bachelors_**

The men had gathered for the evening at the common.

The air was thick with humidity for Spring, and they all sat, drinking, playing knucklebone and shells, talking, laughing. The moon, almost full, was casting enough light down into the fort that they had not really needed many lanterns and torches to help them see. Lorina, or course, was happy with that. It was less chance for a drunken man to wander into one and catch himself on fire. She loved warmer weather, and she hummed as she went about her business, Dory right along with her, both of them smiling. A few foot soldiers were at the bar, and the myriad of working­ girls were milling, sitting on laps, causing havoc as they usually did.

Cerys and Guinevere, along with Nimli and Wynn, had absented themselves, knowing full well it would be much too rowdy for their tastes. They had retired to Cerys' rooms to read with Rhia for the evening.

Wynn was learning how to read, as was Nimli. Cerys had taken it upon herself that all the wom­en in the fort would be able to read the lists she was now using instead of her tally sticks. It was the perfect diversion so the men could have the evening to be drunken idiots on their own.

It was the usual night at the common area, except for over at the knights tables.

Most of the men were gathered there. Occasionally they broke into song, or tousled with one an­other. Earlier there had been a game of knives. Tristan had, as usual, won.

It was the night before Lancelot was to get married, and they were bound and determined to send him off in style. Not one person in the common had neglected in bringing him drink. He had given Lorina the signal to stop sending them over, but she had just laughed and winked at him.

Jols had brought him two drinks, Ganis and Hywel as well. Dafydd, stepping away early in the evening, had been merciful enough to bring him water and a bit of stew. He had sat with him a few moments.

"Come see me in the morning and I'll make up some licorice root tea for your stomach." Lance­lot had simply looked at him, nodded dumbly, and wrapped his hand around yet another cup of drink that was placed in front of him.

He was enjoying the merry-making, but it was getting to the point where if he tried to stand, he would fall over. He blinked groggily. Damn but he was drunk, and he had not been so since he had first kissed Cerys on the battlements. Then he had passed out and slept the night on the stone floor.

Lancelot shook his head and forced himself to try and remain lucid. If he had one more drink, he would pass out, and knew if he did, he would end up in a compromising position.

These men showed no mercy when one of their own was getting married.

"Please, I donn want 'nother!" Lancelot slurred, hands upraised, as another cup of wine was smacked in front of him. The men roared around him, laughter and remarks flying over his head.

"Whats this? Lancelot refusing a drink?" Bors shouted, and slapped him on the back. Lancelot lurched forward from the force and braced himself on the table. He raised his head to Arthur, sitting across from him, and they shared a look. A peevish one from Lancelot, an amused one from Arthur.

"Dammit Bors, you're a bloody ox." He grunted, then laughed along with everyone else, unable to stop himself, being too much gone in drink. Perceval grabbed the offending cup and drained it with a flourish.

"Don't want to waste good drink!" He exclaimed and the rest of the men cheered. The lot of them were pissed as newts, Lancelot thought, and grinned as he splayed himself over the table drunkenly.

Grand thing this was. He knew this night he was going to end up sleeping somewhere uncom­fortable. If he slept at all.

He sensed organized movement around him, and saw looks passing between all the knights, as well as Jols and Ganis. He cleared his throat and straightened himself. Ganis quietly backed away and left the common, Jols following him.

"Whass goin' on? What're you lot up to?"

"You remember what you lot did to me the night before my wedding, don't you, old friend?" Arthur said, raising his eyebrow and taking a swig from his own cup lazily, his eyes dancing over the rim as he drained it.

Lancelot thought for a moment, chuckling, then raised his eyes. Oh no...

"I donn want t'be treed - hic - from a rope inna... inna... chair, thank-yer - hic - very much." Lancelot stated as best he could, and realized that he must have just made no sense whatsoever and hiccupped again. He glanced about, and saw six knights standing suddenly. He looked at each of them.

"Bloody Hells." He groaned then and tried to rise. Bors had his hand on his shoulder, pushing him back into his seat and holding him there.

"No you don't, Goat." He said, a smirk on his face.

"Revenge is sweet Lancelot." Arthur pronounced, barely able to contain himself, and he pulled a rope out from behind his back, his grin wide.

Lancelot felt a bit of lucidity come back to him. He focused as hard as he could to get the words out well. He could see it now... dangling away, having the men pushing at whatever he was strapped into, his stomach heaving...

"Arthur! Please, of all people you would understand!" Lancelot said, his eyes pleading with the commander. "You're a fair and just man..."

Arthur just laughed. "You are rubbing off on me. Now sit still."

Before Lancelot could try to bolt out of his seat again, he was held down, and more ropes were brought out. He screamed and yelled and swore every horrible word he could think of as Gawain tied his feet together, despite his kicking.

Perceval roped his arms to his body, and Tristan, who Lancelot thought surely would not want any part of this, put a blindfold on him. Lancelot struggled for all he was worth, but having that many men as strong as himself holding him down meant it was a mute point.

He was stuck.

"You can't get out of it. Just relax or they will tighten the ropes and you will be uncomfortable." He hissed into Lancelot's ear as he tied the cloth behind his head.

"Watch the hair!" Lancelot hissed back. "That pulls."

Tristan laughed and patted him on the head as he finished tieing the knot. A few moments passed as he was plunked back to his stool to sit, tied and blindfolded. He could hear the men around him, chuckling and cracking jokes. He ground his teeth together and struggled against the ropes.

"Dammit! I know you are all there, I can hear your sniggering. For the love of the Gods untie me."

The men laughed. He sighed and hung his head. This was pointless. They were going to humil­iate him whether he wanted it or not. He began to laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation, and felt himself sway a bit. He was much too drunk to be tied up like this. He was likely to fall over, and felt himself tipping.

He felt a hand on his right shoulder pushing him back upright. "Stay with us, Goat." He heard Bors from the same side as the hand. He sounded like he said that while he was drinking, it ech­oed in the cup Lancelot assumed was up against his lips.

"I suppose I deserve this." He said, trying to control his giggling.

"That you do. But moreso, you get to endure what we did. Think of it as... as a right of passage." Arthur stated from off to his left.

Lancelot grimaced. Damn him for ever coming up with the idea they should string him up in a tree. Who knew that Arthur was secretly afraid of heights? He had been subjected to Guinevere screaming at him for a full hour after the wedding. Giving Arthur nightmares about falling. Damn...

He did deserve this. And it was funny as hell.

He wondered where they were going to string him up. He really should have seen this one com­ing. He supposed he was so drunk right now that he wouldn't have seen a whole Saxon army unless they had tripped at his feet. Then he may have just invited them in for a drink.

He vowed that if he lived through this night, he was never going to touch wine again.

Right... and pigs would sprout wings and fly up to Arthur's heaven.

He began laughing again, snorting now really.

"This is really not very funny." Lancelot said as laughed harder. "Really..."

"Remember when you lot decided to hang me upside down over the tanner pit? Lorina can't bring home new dyed cloth without me having to heave my belly up."

Lancelot groaned. His penance was for that prank as well? He was seriously in trouble. He hoped that they weren't going to hang him above the latrine pits. A tree, he could handle, the tanner ponds... bearable... but...

"Listen, Bors, I am truly sorry for that, what can I pay you to untie me? My first born, a new blade... how much coin?"

Bors only laughed. "I have enough brats, I don't need another blade, and not any amount of coin could you pay me for this. You are out of luck."

The men around him were laughing loudly now. He was feeling the effects of the drink again. He swallowed and willed his control not to lose his stomach over this.

"I will not retch." He hissed under his breath, and clenched his hands to the side of the stool to steady himself as best he could, with his arms tied to his sides. His fingers snaked out and curled around the edge.

Despite it all, he was still laughing along with the rest of the men. He took a breath.

"Whurr y' gonna string me up then?" He slurred.

"Now that's a secret." He head Galahad say from off to his right. He turned his head in the di­rection and felt the earth spin again.

"Damnt'all Some'n... Untie me..."

He felt hands on him, and suddenly he heard Gawain's rumbling laugh as he was hefted up over a shoulder.

Lancelot knew what he was going to do. "Gawain. No... I'm drunk, fool... does not solve anyt..."

It was too much, and his head swam. He was too drunk to be tied to a chair and swinging from only the Gods knew where. Even he would not have done this to someone else.

He retracted that. He would have, with gusto. But right now, it was not very fun, this prank, and he had really had it.

"ENOUGH!" He screamed as hard as he could. The world was spinning, and his stomach was lurching. He struggled. The change in posture spun his head further.

He closed his eyes behind his blindfold to stave off the inevitable passing out for a few more moments. He was not going to give them the satisfaction of being sick.

He was going to get even with all of them.

Right after he woke up...

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Cerys stood in front of the byre, her hands on her hips. It was just dawn, and Nimli had come to get her.

"I think you need to come see something."

There in the straw, with one arm over his eyes, his legs sprawled about, was Lancelot. His cloth­ing was rumpled, and he was covered in chaff. One ankle had a rope around it, and it was tied to the wall. Beside him was his 'favourite' nanny goat. Only this time she too was tied to the wall, and was quietly curled up at his side, sleeping. Lancelot's other arm was around her.

"Of all the pranks." Cerys whispered, trying very hard not to laugh. "Arthur said they were go­ing to hoist him up on the wall in a chair, not this."

"He would have suspected that." Nimli reflected, tilting her head to look at the sleeping man. "And we did hear them out there last night laughing at something."

They stood a moment, watching the man sleep, tilting their heads. Cerys let out a small giggle as Lancelot let out a snore.

"Maybe they did both?" She ventured.

Nimli winked at Cerys and crawled up beside him on the straw. She pulled bit of it out of his hair, smoothing it back. He mumbled something incoherent and he turned onto his side, nestling into the goat's back. She smothered a giggle and looked back at Cerys. Cerys shook her head.

"You are wicked, if you are about to do what I think you are."

Nimli raised an eyebrow, leaned over very quietly and...

"Baaaah...baaaahhh..." She breathed, pretending to be a goat, then carefully wetting her finger and sticking it in his ear. As quickly as she could, she lifted her skirts and ran off the pile, grab­bing Cerys. They both ran around the corner of the byre and watched, well out of his sight be­hind him.

Lancelot opened his eyes slowly, and when he realized where he was, sat up immediately, blink­ing. He looked around, and rubbed his eyes. He swore as he saw the goat, and he attempted to get up, only to be thrown back into the pile as his leg wouldn't let him. This woke the nanny goat and she made a quiet nickering noise and started to rise, flapping her ears at him, her large liquid eyes blinking.

"Damn you all to bloody hell!" He screamed, then winced as he held his head. "This isn't fun­ny." He muttered more quietly.

He sat for a moment, thrashing at the straw and then kicking his leg to take the rope off, cursing, for the first time in a long time, in his native tongue from when he was a child. Cerys sobered.

He was mad. Really mad.

The last time she had heard him do that was when he had come to from his chest wound from the crossbow bolt and tried to belt Dafydd. Dafydd had just extracted the head of the bolt, and it was all Hywel and Arthur could do to hold him down then.

This may have been too far to push him, she thought.

"What did I do to deserve such punishment?" He yelled to no one in particular. The goat made more noise at him, and licked his forearm.

From across the yard, she could hear quiet chuckling, and she realized they had been watched by the rest of the men. She pointed to the other side of the stable yard, and Nimli giggled, with her hand over her mouth. Perceval saw her, winking and pointing at his ear. Both women gave him a toothy grin.

Lancelot was still cursing, now in their language, working the knot around his ankle. "I'll flay you alive! I'll break every bone in your hands... The lot of you are..." He continued on like this for a few moments.

Cerys decided she had really had enough. He must be hung over, and she was to marry this man tonight. She wanted him rested and happy. Not hung over and seething. Besides, she wanted a bit of quiet time with him before they had to be separated for the ceremony.

She sauntered out into the yard, her arms crossed. She decided to make a show of it, since the rest of the knights were watching, and she had seen Jols and Ganis join them, as well as Brinn, Gilly and Hector. The whole fort would be here soon, so she needed to be quick. She prayed that the women would not happen upon them. That was all she needed, their gossip twisting this joke around.

Although, this would be humorous to share with Guinevere. No sooner had she thought that than she saw movement from the knights hiding place, and Guinevere popped her head out un­derneath Arthur's arm. Cerys knew Lorina would be there too. Where were Dory and Wynn?

She smiled her best smile at them, and then changed her face to be as upset as she could muster.

And it would be fun to get one up on that bunch hiding there as well, if she could get Lancelot to play along.

So let the jests begin.

Lancelot turned at her footsteps and his face went from enraged to embarrassed in the blink of an eye.

"Dearest, you didn't come home last night!" She pouted, pretending to have just come upon him. She heard giggling, quickly hushed as he looked up and he scanned the area. "And now I find you here with... her?" She pointed at the goat.

He looked back to her and grimaced. "You see? You SEE what happens when you get men like that drunk?" He said, finally giving up trying to get the knot around his leg undone, and con­centrated on pushing the nanny goat away, who was now butting her head into his shoulder, making affectionate noises at him. He screwed his face up.

"Get off me you disgusting thing."

"I do see. You prefer straw and a nanny goat to my affections in bed?" She winked at him so only he could see, and his face changed to realize that she was playing it up.

So he had heard the men around the corner. He raised his eyebrow. She was in such trouble if she had anything to do with this.

"I am hurt... really I am. I mean, you plead with me to make those noises when we... but... its very distressing to see... " She gestured as she reached him, one hand on her forehead, her face mock-stricken. He raised a hand to her, pretending to be upset.

"Love please, untie me and we can speak on it in private."

She bent to untie his leg. He stopped her hand, but she shook it off.

"Let me get you out of here before the whole fort is up." She whispered. "I had no idea until Nimli came and got me this morning. Are you alright?"

He softened at that, nodded quickly, and cleared his throat. "Darling." He spoke loudly, "You are the only one for me, and you know that. This goat, she means nothing!"

She giggled under her breath and finished untying him. She went to the goat and untied her, pat­ting her head and leaving her in the straw. No point in leaving her tied up, the jest was almost over.

"Well, if she means nothing, come prove this to me in our own bed, lover." She stated, pushing her voice out so she knew the group behind the building could hear her. He hefted himself up, and came over to her, brushing bits of straw off himself.

"We could..." He announced, looking about the area, pointing at the goat, lifting one corner of his lips into his familiar smirk, pretending to be thinking amorous thoughts, his best flirting face on for all to see. He trailed a finger down her face, and winked at her.

She caught what he wanted to do. She smiled wickedly then, and nodded. What fun! They wouldn't see this coming at all.

"I agree, this would be more fun. You are so baa-aaad." She said as loudly, and turned, grabbing the lead of the goat's collar, tugging to bring her down off the straw. She took Lancelot's hand, pulled him to her and kissed him loudly. They turned together, leading the goat away towards their rooms. The goat grabbed the hem of Cerys' skirt in her mouth, chewing as she trotted along behind them making happy noises.

It was too much for the grouping, who tumbled out of their hiding places, all of them laughing so hard, Cerys thought they might just lose their bladders.

Men could be so ridiculous.

She looked over her shoulder as they all stood watching them walk away with the goat. She stuck her tongue out and winked. She saw Arthur shaking his head, and holding his stomach. She nodded at Tristan, who bit at an apple absently, and nodded back. He was chuckling him­self.

She loved making Tristan laugh. That made her morning.

Once they were around the corner, Bors rubbed a hand over his head. "They got us eh?"

"I think so, Bors, I think so." Arthur said as he strode off to catch them.

* * *

**Dear Reader:**

Ok, this was a really fun chapter to write and all i can say is that I have been party to bachelor parties where someone gets strung up in a chair in a tree. I have also been to drunken bashes where the poor man was so wasted he passed out on the way home and we have to carry him back to his room. So many memories of Lancelot's various escapades in my mind that I had to bring this in. I really hope you enjoyed it!

_Cardeia_


	64. A Moment for the Future

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the character names, save my own original creations. I do not wish to be compensated for this work, nor do I wish to infringe on any copyrights held by any stakeholders of the movie King Arthur. This work is an original creation, based on the legend of King Arthur and his knights.

* * *

**Chapter 64: _A Moment for The Future_**

Lancelot closed the door and sighed wearily. Cerys giggled and pulled off her shoes, flopping onto the bed, wiggling her dusty toes, rubbing them back and forth on one another.

"Oh, the look on Arthur's face when you handed him the goat's lead. That was priceless! Such fun." She said merrily, running her fingers through the ends of her hair to untangle them. "And Gawain, he was laughing so hard!"

Cerys prattled on a few moments as Lancelot shed his leather overtunic and his boots. He scratched at his jaw, then his chest as he felt the linen tunic he was wearing relax around him. free of the leather overtunic, the air getting to his skin. He stretched noisily and smiled.

"Yes. It's been much too long since we have heard that braying noise." He said.

Cerys made a noise to agree and flopped onto her back, her arms above her. "I am glad he is feeling better."

Lancelot joined her on the bed, lounging on his elbow, his head cocked as he watched her. Her eyes were sparkling as she stared up at hte roof of their rooms, a small smile playing on her lips as she continued to wiggle her toes. She turned her head and regarded him.

"What?"

"Just looking at my extremely happy wife-to-be." he replied, brushing some of her hair back from her face. So soft. He knew he must smell of sour wine and goat, but he was enjoying being near her. She seemed not to notice his odour, so he was happy to lay for a moment or two, just with her.

"You mean you haven't left me for a goat?" She teased, playfully slapping his chest.

He moved close to her then, pulling her into his arms, and kissed her, growling as he did so. She wound her hands around his neck, fitting herself along his body. She could feel him respond to her, and she threaded her fingers into his hair. He groaned into her mouth, his hands finding her back and softly moving his fingers over the fabric. She was going to completely undo him.

And she could so easily, he realized. Just her touch and he was utterly devoid of thought but her.

"I love you Cerys." He murmured to her as their eyes met. She brought her hands to his face and he could see tears starting, but she was still smiling. Crying when he said something that should make her happy? He would never understand women.

But never would he want to be without his constant amazement of her. So he was content with the fact that he would still be discovering her years from now.

"I... lo… love you... so much." She whispered back through her tears, and then proceeded to kiss him, fervently, her hands going back to his hair and pulling a bit. He growled again, his man­hood rising up, hard against him. He raised an eyebrow, pulling away from her just a bit and she moaned softly, spreading her hips a bit wider for him to settle between her legs.

She wasn't crying anymore.

As he was pulling up her skirts, a knock at the door came. Cerys looked at him pleadingly. Both of them were now breathing hard, aroused. Her legs were flung up around his hips and she wig­gled suggestively. His trews were half undone, and...

"Vixen." He said quietly.

"Don't answer that, they may think we are back to sleep." She whispered, biting her lip. He grinned wickedly at her and trailed his lips down her neck.

The knocking got louder.

Lancelot groaned and raised himself off the bed slightly, Cerys lazily undoing the laces of his tunic. "What is it?" He said as gruffly as possible. Cerys giggled.

"Get off of Cerys and come to the door." a muffled voice said from the other side.

"Go away."

"I can go get Hywel to take the hinges off this door. So open up." The voice, now familiarly female, repeated, banging on the door punctuating it.

Lancelot grimaced and looked at Cerys. He eased himself away from her towards the door. He pulled his tunic back into place, did up the laces on the front of his trews, willing his happy member to be quiet. He opened the door a crack.

He was not amused that they were being interrupted, and his eyes snapped. He hoped that got the point across.

"What do you want?" He spat peevishly, one hand on the door, the other running through his hair. He shifted his legs. "This had better be important."

Before Lancelot could react, Lorina and Dory pushed their way into the room. Cerys jumped off the bed as they walked in. Lorina surveyed the room with a critical eye, one hand on her hip. Dory was setting some things down on the chair, and left again quickly.

"You have to leave now Lancelot." Lorina said.

Lancelot was smouldering. Cerys put a hand on his arm. He shook her off.

"Why in the name of all the Gods do I need to leave my own rooms?" He said, crossing his arms. Cerys tried not to laugh, but she couldn't help it. She let out a peal, and Lorina winked at her.

"Well sweetheart, if you don't you will be deluged by five other women as we build the mar­riage bed, and set up the room so that I can be dressed." She said.

"But..." He started.

"Would you like to hold pins for the ladies? Perhaps you can help hem the dress if you have nimble enough fingers. Or, you could perform the fertility chants with Lorina and Guinevere..."

With that, Lancelot gathered up his boots and gave her a resigned look. She patted his cheek.

"I'm sorry, I thought we would have more time." She whispered, her eyes sparkling. She trailed a hand in front of her, squeezing his crotch lightly as she bit her lip.

He let a small thin smile through his grimacing and leaned down to kiss her cheek.

"Evil woman." He hissed. Cerys winked and turned away from him.

He wanted so very much to stay right then, and fling Lorina out on her ear. But... Tonight he would have more time with her. This apparently was important woman-stuff before a wedding, and he wanted no part in it.

"Alright. I must go find Brinn so he can help me find all my bits of armour anyways."

As he was leaving, he saw Dory with another load of things in her arms, headed towards their rooms. It looked like she had some flowers... and a... corn husk? He shook his head. Some things he was just not meant to know. He was about seven strides away from the door when he stopped, realizing that his swords were still in the room.

"Lancelot!" Cerys exclaimed from the doorway.

He turned to her, watching a breeze catch some of her hair, her cheeks still flushed from their kissing and he felt his heart leap. Beautiful.

And holding his swords. She was also observant.

He strode back towards her and pulled her close to him, kissing her as hard and as passionately as possible, causing her to drop the swords at his feet and wrap her hands about his head. When he let her go, she swayed and blinked, her face now even more flushed, her lips parted and flush from their kissing. He felt the heat radiate off of her.

Good. Now she was as frustrated as he felt. He briefly wondered about a swim in the river to cool off.

"That will have to do until tonight." He said huskily, trailing a finger down her throat. She raised an eyebrow to him and slapped him again in the chest.

"Oh?" She said, her tone taking on a jesting nature. "And what, pray-tell, will I have to look forward to tonight? Are you bringing the goat home?"

He chuckled then, picked up his swords and stepped away from her. "Just you wait."

It was her turn to chuckle and as she turned back to go inside, she stopped.

"Lancelot?" She queried again over her shoulder.

"Yes, love."

"You need a bath."

* * *

**Dear Reader:**

This got written at the spa, and I had to put it in, but felt it needed its own chapter. So a short snippet, but a fun one. I hope that it was fun. I do so love making Lancelot frustrated. His temper and smouldering demand it.

I did get to watch King Arthur at the spa with all the ladies that were there. It was quite fun telling them about Arthurian legend and such. It was fun galloping along trails named after each of the knights as well, and taking meals in the Round Table Dining area.

The spa was very inspiring. I hope that each of you gets to do something for yourselves that is inspiring to your life. Whether it be taking an afternoon to sit in a secluded area and write, to take in a sports game, to spend time with those you love... remember to take time for you, because you are the most important person in your life. I need to remember that every so often, and this small trip was a perfect reminder.

"Me time" is important, especially for women.

_Cardeia_


	65. Companions in Celebration

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the character names, save my own original creations. I do not wish to be compensated for this work, nor do I wish to infringe on any copyrights held by any stakeholders of the movie King Arthur. This work is an original creation, based on the legend of King Arthur and his knights.

* * *

**Scribe Notes:**

_All:_ Ahhh! Another post. Been so long since I could just have a good sit and write on Cerys that I was worried I would lose sight of her and the rest of her world. These two chapters, I hope, do not delay the wedding, but add to it, for you.

On to comments:

_plzkthx101:_ Thank you for your kind words.I am sorry it has taken me so long to get updates out. This thing called life sure can get hectic, eh? I hope you enjoy!

_annalon:_ Hey! Ok, I recognize you now (grin). So glad you are still reviewing. It warms me when I know I am able to make you smile and resonate ideas with you in your head. More to come before the big ceremony, but hey... these were fun and I hope they are a good "delay".

_Calliann_: you know I had to put that goat in somewhere. It's just to precious to think about not doing so. And the joke being turned on the men, in a fun fashion, I could NOT resist. Yes, I wanted to give the typical response to wedding preparations for Lancelot. Most men I know just throw up their hands "why do we need a china pattern?" "so the flowers are pink instead of 'salmon'... why are you crying?"That really wouldn't be me, I can't stand the frivolity either... I think if I ever tie the knot, I will elope.

I hope these two chapters meet your criteria as well, they were a bit more emotional to write. Once you have read them you may understand this next thought more, but in a way I am hugging all my characters, telling them they are important to me, and have impacted my life_muchly_ (wink). I am sad it is coming to an end as well, but also jubilant that I have been able to see it through to the end!

_Elsfire:_ So glad I was able to make you laugh, for that is important to do, every day. I hope these next two chapters are as much fun for you!

_Ailis-70:_ YAY! Laughter! More I say, MORE! I wondered if you would see any similarities to your days with the Marines. Lord knows I have buddies from the armed forces here,and their stories were an influence on some of the memories I dredged for that chapter. Men are silly things sometimes...I am really glad you liked these two chapters. They were light and fun to write. The next two are a bit sappier. I'm starting to say goodbye to my virtual family of Cerys and her knights, and this was maybe the start of it... I'm attached and I know it.

I am a half hour drive from a Hershey plant here. Every year at Christmas we drive to Smith's Falls and spend a load of cash at the "Chocolate Shoppe" and I do up old mason jars with chocolate almonds etc for the mail man and snow plow driver... anyone really... I love chocolate, I think I may need it to live. So a chocolate shower... ohhhhh...

Corn husk for dry skin, hadn't thought of that... but I might try that! Loofa is way to expensive, and we have tons of corn out this way... (wink)

_lilstrummrgrl527:_ Pissed as newts is really fun to say. But do newts get pissed? I have no idea... I know you want to get to the wedding, and I hope that these chapters don't frustrate, but bring depth to this momentus occasion! They were necessary to do, I hope you like them. I was afraid of heights for a long time. And I think Guin was yelling since she didn't get any sleep, not that he sent her. That would be too funny, her sleep-deprived temper going all out on a very surprised and slowly backing away Lancelot. Hee hee...

_Sokorra Lewis:_ Hee hee.. Bors is one of those men that would take a joke too far, or repeat it ten million times until everyone around him knew it by heart. he would laugh every time. It's an endearing trait, since my father does that. Here are the next two for you!

_gwenn0:_ I know these chapters wil fulfil some of the requests you had in your review, but they were written before you reviewed, believe it or not. So I hope that you enjoy, and so very happy that you laughed with the last two. I loved writing them, they were light, fun and spirited.

Dory will be used again, not sure how yet, but you will recognize her when you see her.

_Melosine:_ You aren't the only one that thinks Tristan and Wynn would elope. He would not put up with fussing, I am sure. I wonder, I should talk with Wynn and see what she thinks. She might just want a wedding, you know. And of course this is a bigger affair since Cerys is the cousin of the King.

Ahh the sequel idea. Not sure if I want to tackle that yet. I want to focus on Dust Devils after this. But the thoughts have always been there... Brinn getting married to someone... Dory and Galahad having a brood, Lancelot being a father... so many possibilities in there.

_Hessa:_ Yay! I always get in the back of my mind that I am not really being accurate, but, in a way, its secondary to the emotion. But... Thank you for letting me know that indeed it is believable. I actually went and bought a wonderful book the other day all about the Roman army, and learned that the long swords the Roman Equestrian ranks used was called a 'Spatha'. Someday I just might take some courses on ancient history, for fun... Thanks very much for reading and reviewing. I'm sorry I have not gotten a chance to get back to yours. It's flagged in my inbox, honest!

* * *

**Chapter 65:** **_Companions In Celebration_**

Lancelot pulled at his vambrace and cursed. Arthur looked up from where he was tieing on his cloak across the shoulder-plates of his own armour.

"Here, let me do that."

Arthur picked at the knot Lancelot had managed to make in the laces for his vambrace and un­tied it. He snugged up the crossed laces, bringing the vambrace close around Lancelot's fore­arm. As he did, Lancelot flexed his hand out.

"That's good, thanks."

The men continued dressing in silence, and the door opened, Tristan sliding in and closing it behind him.

"Arthur." Tristan said, nodding.

"Tristan."

Lancelot turned and looked at Tristan. He was dressed in his own armour, and his sword was strapped to his back, the handle poking out over his right shoulder. The only left-handed swords­man of the bunch, save himself who used both hands. So funny that he would think of that now.

Tristan pulled at the collar of his cuirass and made a face.

"I know." Lancelot agreed. "It's hot out, and we are in metal boxes."

Tristan scoffed and went for a cup of water near Arthur's wash table. He stood, the cup in his hand, and fidgeted more with his cuirass.

"I tried to get in to see Cerys a few moments ago."

Arthur smiled and chuckled. "And you were not so politely told to bugger off weren't you?"

Tristan nodded.

"I tried earlier. Your woman pushed me out the door!" Arthur said, pointing at Tristan.

Tristan's eyebrows shot up and he smiled. "Really?"

Lancelot sat down on a chair and buckled on a greave. "It's that russet hair of hers, I tell you. Is she really as feisty in be..."

Lancelot was cut off by the cup flying towards his head. He grinned and ducked, and it careened off of his armour, landing with a soft thud into a wall hanging behind him.

"You missed."

Tristan grunted and bared his teeth, then chuckled.

As Lancelot leant over in the chair to retrieve it, the door opened again, this time with Bors and Perceval, also in their armour, both pulling at their cuirasses the same way Tristan had been. The coolness of the room was a haven, and Lancelot was glad for it right then.

"Could use a cup of ale I tell you." Bors grumbled as he stood inside the door. Perceval brushed past him and into the room, straight for the water basin. Lancelot handed him the cup, and he filled it, guzzling it back.

"It's bloody damned hot out there." He said finally, once he had wiped his chin with his hand.

Bors was so pink in the face, Perceval handed the cup to him. "Drink, you old fart, before you keel over."

Bors grunted and wandered over to the table. He dribbled what was left into the cup. The ewer was empty, and he gave a hard look to Perceval and handed it to him.

"More. Now."

Perceval left, ewer in hand, armour creaking as he hit the doorframe on the way out, hobnails gritting across the stone floor. All of them were in their boots, and every time someone shifted, it grated on the floor. Arthur was grimacing. His floor would have to be repolished after this. Guinevere would be livid.

It was all wearing on Lancelot's patience. Five hulking men in armour in a room meant for two. It was a tad small for this type of gathering.

But he was glad to have his friends with him, if for nothing else than to have company as he held onto the frayed ends of his nerves. Arthur sat behind his desk and leaned back in his chair, a calm set of eyes to Lancelot. They shared a look and Arthur smiled.

Now Lancelot knew why Arthur had been throwing up into his chamber pot beforehand. Lance­lot had thought it was the ale the night before. Now he knew different. If he'd been able to keep food down, he too would be retching right now. For once, he was glad his stomach was empty.

"Tried to get in to visit with Cerys." Bors said as he leaned on the wall beside Tristan. "Guine­vere stepped on my foot when I tried to see in the door."

It was Arthur's turn to raise his eyebrows and smile. "Really?"

"Did she hurt you?" Tristan asked as he glanced down at Bors' feet.

Bors shifted uncomfortably and shook his head, his face morose. The men laughed.

"So protective of her they are." Lancelot mused, as he stood and stretched. He wondered if she got the gift he had sent over with one of the bath women earlier in the day. No indication from them or the cloistered women had been sent, so he hoped she had.

The leathers on his armour creaked, and he picked up his blades from the ground. Why they were all going to a wedding fully armed he never understood, but ceremony was ceremony, and Arthur insisted on it. Something about a bridge of swords... no... that was in that book Cerys was reading about Greek people... Maybe it was Cerys needing to hold a sword... Really, he had no clue.

He was just going to show up, do as he was told and get through it as quickly as possible.

He was getting married.

It had hit him earlier that afternoon when he had been dressing in Arthur's room and Arthur was humming as he himself was donning his armour. Arthur had told him it was going to be one of the most wonderful moments in his life, that he was going to begin the next step... As Arthur had blathered on, Lancelot gave a silent hope that he was able to get through it without suffo­cating.

Today he was marrying his Cerys. His best friend, one of the constants that had made this land home for him over the years. His family was here, his friends, his brothers... and now, the wom­an who would carry on his blood, with their sons and daughters.

His thoughts turned to his birthplace as he paced the room. He wondered if he should embark a trip with her to there. From the reports, the Mongol hordes had decimated the Sarmatian tribes, and they were all but assimilated easterly as they escaped, with the Celts. There would be no family to meet now.

But he wanted to show her the grass plains of the Steppes so much. Show her the wonders of the winds, the sky, so large and vast. And perhaps find his sister, his mother. His father, he was sure would have died in battle by now.

Lancelot pulled more on his leather arming doublet. He was fully dressed as if he was going into battle himself! The lot of them were going to creak, jingle and bang their way up to the hill, all of them dressed this way.

A noisy bunch in more than just revelry. Lancelot was glad that at least he wasn't wearing his helmet. It was much too hot for a Spring Equinox to be wearing a steel bucket on his head unless he needed it to protect his brains. Couldn't hear a blessed thing with it on anyways.

A knock on the door turned all their heads and brought Lancelot back from his wandering thoughts.

"Come." Arthur said loudly.

Brinn stuck his head in the door, and smiled when he saw the men assembled.

"Jols and Ganis have the bower in place, and lit the torches. It's time you men made it up to­wards the circle. Gawain and Galahad are already there."

Lancelot finished strapping his blades on. As the men filed out of the room, Perceval returned with the ewer of water. Bors grabbed it from his hand and drank straight from it, giving it back to him once empty, half of it splashed down his front. He stomped past the men grumbling, his face only slightly less red. Perceval shrugged and put the ewer down by the door and turned to follow up the hill towards the stone circle.

Tristan fell into step beside Lancelot, their blades swinging with their shoulders as they walked. They fell behind the others a bit, but did not talk. Lancelot was playing with the iron ring he was to give to Cerys, in his hand, his gaze falling on the door to their rooms as they passed. He stopped.

He just wanted to see her, reassure himself somehow that she was still going to do this.

He had no idea why he was worried. He knew Cerys loved him, he knew that they were happy. But... what if she decided she didn't want to marry a knight? What if she decided she'd much rather just be lovers like Bors and Lorina had done for so long? What if... He sighed and hung his head.

He was being ridiculous again. Gareth, so much in his mind lately, would have told him to stop being such a moody bastard and get on with it. Truly, most of the men would probably say that.

Tristan put a hand on his shoulder and patted absently. "Come on."

"Tristan..."

"You worry too much." Tristan replied, walking forward from him. "Never doubt that she loves you."

With that, Lancelot strode to catch up to Tristan, and they continued their way towards the hill.

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Cerys was biting her lip as she was sewn into her dress, standing on a small round of wood to keep her up off the floor. Wynn was on a larger footstool above her, braiding her hair.

"Does it have to be so tight?" She gasped as Lorina pulled again.

"It's form fitting." Lorina said. "It's supposed to be."

Cerys grumbled that she wouldn't be able to dance very well in it, and the women laughed. It lightened her mood. She smiled and watched the sun hit the bronze disc above her bed. The tree relief shone out from it and she felt her heart swell.

She was marrying her Lancelot today. For so long now, she never thought she would live through the preparations to see it, and was so very glad when Arthur and Guinevere had finally allowed her to let Rhia perform the ceremony. Often she thought that weddings were not for the bride or her husband to be. They were for everyone else.

She looked at her bed. Dory was carefully binding reeds, some hollyhocks, corn husks and Morning Glories to the ends, Nimli helping her with the cords. Dory had her tongue stuck out of her mouth at an odd angle, concentrating on getting the reeds placed just so. Sprinkled throughout were crocus blooms and some fresh pine boughs.

"Its lovely, Dory." Cerys said as Dory stood up from the footboard.

Dory blushed and smiled hesitantly. "I do love decorating marriage beds, but someday I hope I won't be able to."

The women all chattered on about beds they had decorated in the past. Cerys and Guinevere re­membered Arthur's bed being very lavish with flowers, since it was summer and Cerys was able to adorn it with heather and lavender, some bracken, even some daisies and meadowsweet. She had even found a late blooming patch of bluebells. Arthur had apparently sneezed a few times when they entered the room. Both women giggled at the memory.

Cerys had been the only one then to decorate Guinevere's bed, and now it was Dory and Nimli's turn to decorate Cerys'. If Dory were to marry Galahad, or Nimli marry Perceval, Wynn would do the honour there. It was said that a virgin must decorate the bed in order to bless it properly. The women all chimed in with giggles as Guinevere remarked on the fact that they really wer­en't following tradition to the letter on that particular custom.

"I would not want it any other way." Cerys said softly, and the women stopped everything for a moment and all thought in it. Cerys sniffled, breaking the silence.

"Napkin." Guinevere said as Lorina handed it up to Cerys. "She's leaking again."

Cerys snorted and wiped at her eyes. She had no idea why she was so emotional today. Even when Lancelot had whispered that he loved her that morning she had teared up. What in the world was she going to do when they arrived on the hill?

She was sure she was going to sob. She couldn't stop herself.

:Lorina and Guinevere had moved onto hemming the bottom of Cerys' dress. Guinevere with pins out her mouth, Lorina with a small needle and the finest thread Cerys had ever seen. Wynn had brought it with her from her village, and said she got it from a trader, who had apparently brought it from Byzantium.

Cerys was going to have to ask Arthur where Byzantium was.

"Thank you for this thread Wynn." Lorina said as she bit off a knot. "It's making this job so much easier."

Wynn nodded and continued winding Cerys' hair up into a curling knot. She had braided it tight­ly, and she was now making a circular pattern at the back of her head with it. Strands were peek­ing out form the knot, and falling around her face.

"You will knock him sideways, Cerys." She remarked as she poked another slim stick into the hair to hold it.

"I hope to keep him upright long enough to marry him. Then I can knock him sideways." Cerys replied, wiggling her eyebrows.

The women laughed again.

"Never thought I would see the day that the mighty Lancelot could be a one woman's man." Guinevere remarked as she stood.

More giggles and agreement from the women.

Cerys turned to Nimli and they shared a look, the blonde girl smiling at Guinevere's comment. It wasn't that long ago that Nimli had approached Cerys in the kitchens, twisting a rag nervously in her hands. She had looked very upset and Cerys was worried something had happened with her and Perceval.

It was then that Nimli had told her that she had been one of Lancelot's many bed mates a year or so past. Cerys wasn't really concerned by it, since she had already known. But Nimli seemed worried it would affect their friendship somehow, and had been loathe to talk about it for quite some time.

Cerys was still getting used to having such close women friends. And to have Nimli so worried about losing her friendship, it had touched Cerys. Reassurances had been swift, and Nimli was much relieved.

Then they gossiped about him mercilessly, and Cerys learned a few things.

Like the kitchens. He had enjoyed that. She smiled and blushed remembering that she had brought him there after his fight with Gawain, and how... excited he had been at the prospect. She had thanked Nimli the next day. Such fun to be learning new ways to please him, woman to woman. She was, after all, still very new at pleasing a man, and was want to make sure she was everything that Lancelot could ever imagine.

It was also very much fun from her end as well.

She could not wait until they were back in this room by themselves. Nimli had mentioned some­thing about honey...

Cerys spontaneously held her hands out to Nimli, and Nimli came over and grasped them. Then Cerys looked around her at all the women assembled with her and she felt the tears pricking her eyes again.

"No matter what our future here holds, you are my friends, and I treasure everything you have done." Cerys said through sniffles. The women at that point all began sniffling, and formed a circle of hugs around Cerys.

"You have always been our friend Cerys." Lorina said. "But if you make me cry again..."

Cerys giggled then sobered. The past half-year had been such a whirlwind! She looked to each face, remembering a moment with them, treasured conversations in the baths, the kitchens. She remembered Guinevere brushing her hair and Lorina dabbing at her cheeks in her rooms, Nimli and their long talks out in the gardens...Dory's kindness and shyness around her, her caring na­ture for Galahad. Her unfailing ability to bring grace to any activity.

She last settled on Wynn. In such a short time she had come to admire and treasure to this wom­an. She was kind, and so good with Dafydd. And she could handle Tristan's moods so well it was miraculous the change in her friend. She smiled warmly and broke one hand away to grasp Wynn's.

"Wynn, you are freshest to us here, but I want you to know that you have made Tristan happy. He is brother in my heart, and such you are my sister in the same way."

Wynn blinked and pushed away a tear. She squeezed Cerys' hand back silently.

"All of you are. And now you are here for me yet again when I am a complete sobbing mess." Cerys added.

Laughter replaced sniffles and they stood a moment longer, entwined with one another. Friends together to celebrate life and love.

Cerys was ready to do this. She had given her heart to Lancelot, and now, it was officially to be his in mind and body. Guinevere gave her a nod and winked, understanding what she was think­ing as they stood together, and she smiled. As they broke to continue to prepare, Guinevere put an arm around her waist, leaning her head on her shoulders.

"Such a long time ago that these men came into your life. And its taken you all this time to choose one!" She jested.

Cerys giggled and hugged her back, silently thinking on that.

No, it had not taken all this time to choose one, just to see the choice her heart had made for her, years before.

And the past year for her to really and truly listen to it.

* * *

**Dear Reader:**

Pass the tissues please... --HONK--

Ok.. better. These chapters were quite emotional for me to write, and this is the start of it. Its different atmospheres, the gathering of the "sides" before a wedding. Having been gathered at hte grooms residence and also with te bride, I was able to grasp bits from both. I hope it was believable!

I also tried to weave in some humour to keep it fun. Humour and laughter are always an element when peopel come together for a happy occasion.

Now onto the next, which will require more tissues, as it did for me while writing.

_Cardeia_


	66. The Gift of Family

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the character names, save my own original creations. I do not wish to be compensated for this work, nor do I wish to infringe on any copyrights held by any stakeholders of the movie King Arthur. This work is an original creation, based on the legend of King Arthur and his knights.

* * *

**Chapter 66: _The Gift of Family_**

A knock on the door brought heads up from last minute adjustments, and Wynn strode to open it. Brinn popped his head in and smiled.

"It's almost dusk, it's time."

Cerys beckoned Brinn into the room, and for once the girls let him. He stepped in and Cerys blinked, then gasped.

The boy was in armour.

And the spitting image of a young Lancelot! Cerys blinked, and the women stilled, also taking in the sight. His long dark hair flowing down his back, perfectly oiled, twin braids in either side holding it off his face. His eys stood out from him this night, a perfect sapphire blue. Calm, yet sparkling all at once.

"My..." Guinevere admonished as she pinched his cheek. He ducked and blushed, standing un­comfortably in under the scrutiny. He had grown considerably over the winter. He was towering over the shorter women now. And he was yet to see thirteen summers!

Cerys realized that he was going to be a huge man. She had never realized how much he had grown until he put on imposing armour. He and Arthur would be able to see eye to eye soon... maybe even Arthur would have to look up.

Cerys took in greaves, vambraces, epaulettes, shoulder-plates and skirting, a fine belt, studded trews and an arming doublet of soft black leather. He twisted slightly and she could hear hob­nails on the stone floor. It was simple blackened metal plate armour, but appointed with bronze on the edges. He even had a simple black cloak fastened under the epaulette hinge.

Just like Lancelot's riding armour. She wondered if it was his first set, from when he was first given rank of equestrian. A set he would have replaced many, many years ago.

Somehow this would not surprise her.

"Brinn... where did you get this?" She said as she stepped off the wood round and over to him, brushing the burnished metal with her fingers. He blushed more and ducked his head again.

"Lancelot had it altered for me, it was his. He has sponsored me for the Spring recruit."

"Well you look very fearsome." She exclaimed. The women murmured their agreement, gath­ering up things to begin heading towards the hill. Cerys poked over the plated metal and felt something on his shoulders. She peeked up - truly he was now taller than her - and gasped.

"Lions!"

An absent hand went to his shoulder and he grinned. "Da' said I could have them."

A hand went to her mouth and her tears began again. "Oh Brinn..."

He looked concernedly at her but she waved him off, turning to find a tissue or handkerchief from one of the women.

"She's been watering all day, pay no mind." Lorina said as she passed. Cerys swatted at her shoulder with the napkin. Then she stopped, an excited look coming to her face, her tears drying as fast as they had started.

"I have something for you. I was going to wait but..." She turned and hopped over to a large chest. Nimli followed her over.

"Don't wrinkle yourself, let me, what are you looking for?" She said, lifting the lid for Cerys.

Cerys pointed.

On the top of the items in the chest, laid gently across linens and clothing, was a well worn and beaten scabbard. It was dark brown, with a cross hatching etched on it in darker dye. The belt had seen many alterations, but it was sturdy. Nimli lifted it up out of the chest carefully, the belt dangling behind it. Bronze adorned the tip in a pattern that was remarkably Roman.

"S'heavy." She said quietly, handing it to Cerys. Their eyes met and Cerys knew that Nimli was near tears herself.

Nimli had once remarked that she thought it was nice that Cerys was helping the boy out. Nimli had always had a soft spot for the orphaned boy, and Cerys knew that this meant much to her as well, to see him become the young man, flourishing under the care of both her and Lancelot.

Cerys was entering this marriage with more than just a new husband by her side. She also had a new son. And a fine one at that.

Cerys hefted it and turned to Brinn. His eyes widened, immediately recognizing what she had laid out across her palms.

Slowly, Cerys drew the sword out of the scabbard, the sound scraping the wooden reinforce­ments at the edge. It was polished to a mirror shine, and the edge was perfect. All along the hilt were patterns and what looked to be Latin etched along the blade. It was a blade not unlike Arthur's, but not quite as long or heavy. Or as decorated. Cerys turned it hilt first towards Brinn, the effort at the weight obvious.

"This was my fathers. It was his fathers before. It passed to me, since my father had no sons." She took breath and motioned for him to take it. He stepped forward and put his hand on the hilt but hesitated.

"But you will have sons with him..."

"His swords will go to them. This is for you, since you are first and foremost a son to both of us now, Brinn. Please, take it. Wear it today for me, to honour my father."

The woman had all stopped, most of them with hands over their mouths, Guinevere sniffling, Wynn with her arm about Dory, Nimli still smiling behind Cerys and sniffling. Lorina was standing at the door with her arms full of cloth, clearing her throat, trying not to cry, looking straight at the wall. It was quite emotional in the room, and Brinn looked on the verge of tears, but was valiantly trying to hold them in check. Cerys had not, and the tears were coursing down her cheeks. Again.

"I..." He started. He picked the blade out of her hands and hefted it. His eyes travelled up the blade slowly, his fingers from his other hand reaching out to caress the lettering. He flipped it a couple of times and broke into a grin that was near heart-stopping. Cerys saw Arthur in him again. More and more he was reminding her of him when young. Strong, smart, capable, and above all else, this light shining from him that had no equal.

She may be biased, she realized, but she knew he would be a great leader of men someday. His influences from the knights were molding him thus. And he was growing up quickly. It seemed only a short time ago he was the young boy on the side of the road telling her he had no family.

"I cannot embrace you in your wedding dress, but..."

Cerys put her hand on his arm, and held out the scabbard. "No need Brinn. Wear it with pride. That is all I could ask for."

Brinn slid the sword home in the scabbard and buckled it around his waist. It hit his hip at an angle, and he adjusted it quickly to let the sword hang off the front. He swallowed.

"Today has been a most... eventful day." He said slowly. "And with more to come. You look very beautiful...Mother."

The women, coming out of the moment between Cerys and Brinn, began moving towards the door again. Cerys nodded to them and put her hand out to Brinn.

"You must hurry to take your place beside the men...Son." She said, her voice thick.

He stood a bit straighter, his pride of soon being counted as one of the men, and not just a boy squire giving him a stature that she knew would be one of his most remarked traits. Straight up as an arrow, his head held with his chin up. She was very proud of him then. She reached up, kissing his cheek, standing on her tip-toes.

"Go. I will see you soon."

He nodded and strode out the door, his boots grinding against the stone, the scabbard swinging. Cerys knew it would not be long before he wore it over his back. Just like his new father.

"Cerys." Nimli said as she closed the trunk. "You are going to have to think about who you will marry him to soon, you know. He's devastating in armour with that long black hair and those piercing eyes."

Cerys smiled at that thought, linked her arm with Nimli and they joined the ladies outside the room.

"I think I may just let him decide for himself. I mean, look how long it's taken some of our knights to do so, eh?"

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Brinn, just out of sight, heard the remark and wiped away the tears he had let fall as soon as he rounded the corner. He stopped and leaned against the wall of a building, his fingers coming down to touch the hilt of the sword. She had given him her father's sword. He was still absorbing this great gifting.

A priceless item that he knew should be at the head of his grave in the cemetery, not adorning his hip. He felt a bit unworthy. And he also felt that no matter what, he would strive very hard to make himself worthy of it. And worthy of the man that had worn it before him. He had never known him, but somehow felt the presence of a great warrior walking beside him. One he need­ed to look up to in every way. The way he looked up to Arthur and his knights.

He composed himself and continued on his way up towards the hill, a new purpose in his stride. He had read the Latin inscription on the blade when Cerys had given it to him. And it had filled him with a wonder.

"Equality, Justice, Valour." He repeated the words out loud as he walked. Such large duties to uphold.

He was going to do his best to always uphold them. For both of them. Truly tonight he had not been gifted with new armour and sword, he had been gifted with a new family.

It was time he let go of his first mother, let her rest in peace. Cerys was the one he wished to call that, and he hoped she was pleased with it.

He crested the hill some moments later, the knights all gathered, the torches giving off enough light to see everyone clearly, glinting off metal, creaking and jingling as they moved about. The roar of the larger torches wafting in the breeze filling in where laughter and talk left spaces. Some fabric hung over a bower with flowers weaved into it, and it was lazily drifting in the breeze. Rhia was already seated underneath it, Dafydd beside her, his hand over hers on her lap. They were talking quietly, Rhia seemed very happy.

Lancelot was jesting with Jols over something, they were laughing, Jols in his own armour, which he seldom wore. Brinn stopped just in front of him and Arthur, who had ambled over.

Brinn felt as if he belonged here with the men on this night. It felt comfortable and right. He straightened again as his King and, really, soon to be commander stopped beside him.

"I see you have a sword." Lancelot said happily. "Where did you find one? Let's see it."

Brinn popped it up out of the scabbard and then slid it as slowly as possible into the moonlight now cresting over the horizon. He relished the way it felt, releasing slowly from the leather and wood, the strength of it coursing through his veins. He wondered if it would always feel that way, to pull one's weapon out to show naked and glinting in the moonlight and torches. He heard Arthur take a breath in, and turned to the man.

"Cerys has asked me to wear it for her this evening, to honour her father." He said quietly, hand­ing it hilt first, as was the proper thing to do, to Arthur.

Arthur grasped the sword and Brinn could see him blinking slowly, reading the blade, hefting it.

"This was her father's spatha. I recognize it."

Brinn nodded, and out of the corner of his eye, saw the shocked look quickly masked by Lance­lot, but replaced with a soft one. He wondered if he would be upset that she had not waited to let them give it to their sons. He worried a bit at that.

"Da', if you wish, I will carry one of your swords as well..."

Lancelot shook his head vehemently and leaned over to inspect the blade. He ran his hands over the lettering slowly, then looked right into Brinn's eyes, causing the young boy to stop dead and stare back. There was an intensity he had only ever seen a few times. He realized it was the first time he had called Lancelot father in front of any of the knights.

"You will carry my lions into battle, and Cerys' sword." He said firmly, quietly, the emotion clearly evident under his breath. "You are our son, and she is honoured to have you as such, as am I."

Brinn stood completely still and dared a breath in. This was truly a night he would remember forever.

Arthur nodded silently and handed the sword back to Brinn, who sheathed it. Jols took the op­portunity to pat Brinns's shoulder and grin from ear to ear.

Lancelot cleared his throat and swallowed.

"Must see to something..." he muttered, and walked off towards the gathering throng of ar­moured men and people from the fort. Brinn had never seen him quite that emotional, but he knew this was a momentous occasion for him, and did not follow. He needed his own time too. Despite that, Brinn wished nothing more than a hug from him right then.

He was really and officially their son now.

Again he thought on his real parents. He knew they were long dead and buried, and he would never replace them, as he had always felt. And he had thought of Lancelot as a father for some time. But now... Now he really was their family. In every way. He again thought of the evenings gifts as so much more than items. He shook ever so slightly as he adjusted his cloak. He was thirteen summers soon. Almost a man. He must control himself and act accordingly.

It did not matter to him that they shared no common blood. He wore his father's armour, and carried his mother's sword. He was silent a moment with the men, his thoughts far off and came to as Jols was congratulating him, telling him it was a fine blade, a worthy blade for killing Sax­ons. He smiled at the man, really more like an uncle, and he too reached out and clasped a shoul­der.

What an evening this was becoming. He was almost overwhelmed with the events of the past year. He felt a culmination of sorts coming to this hill, like a start of a new era. Perhaps it was just the energy sweeping him away and he settled his mind, bringing himself back to the present. It was Cerys and Lancelot's night this night, not his.

"Do you know what the inscription says?" Arthur asked as they began moving towards the top of the hill. Brinn fell into step between Jols and Arthur, Jols arm across Brinn.

"Yes." He responded and squared his shoulders. "I will do my best Sir."

Arthur patted his other shoulder. "Of that Brinn, I have no doubt." and strode away towards the bower.

* * *

**Dear Reader:**

More tissues please... --SNORT HONK--

Ahh... happy tears are so therapeutic, no?

One of the ideas I had from the inception of Brinn and Cerys' relationship was that she would give him a sword, since he did not have family to do so. But I also realized that Lancelot may want to do so as well. Then I realized that Lancelot would want to keep swords for his blood-sons, and perhaps he would have something else of value to give to Brinn as he stepped from being a boy to being a young man. And it hit me... lions.

So to have Cerys give Brinn her father's sword was a bit of closure on the relationship they have. Brinn is now ready to take on his training, and he has the backing of loving foster parents to do so with honour. I am glad it turned out the way it did, just as I hoped it would when we met the young boy, helping Cerys. He's not so young, which is a testament to what proper parenting can do for a young man. He shot up over the winter, no? I have two friends who's sons are growing so fast, and this reminded me of that fact. One day, they went from young-faced sweetboys to deep-voiced young men... the time has flown... as it does for Brinn.

Please do let me know what you think, and if I caught what Brinn would feel well.

Thanks for your patience as it took me so long to update. Thank you for reading.

_Cardeia_


	67. He's Gone Soft in the Head

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the character names, save my own original creations. I do not wish to be compensated for this work, nor do I wish to infringe on any copyrights held by any stakeholders of the movie King Arthur. This work is an original creation, based on the legend of King Arthur and his Knights.

* * *

**Scribe Notes:**

_All:_Ok, the last three chapters are posted together. I know I know... a lot to read. But...

I have reached a goal that has made me very very happy. I have finished my first large body of work in four years! Yep, you guessed it... Cerys at Knight is complete! These last three chapters finish it up.

On to comments (for the last time!) I want to try and remember everyone who helped me get to this point, so please, take a moment and read these responses to others. There are so many people who helped Cerys become what she is, and I want to share those inspiring people with everyone! They have stories too, read them, and I hope that all of your are able to further the collaborative atmosphere that this website has. I feel blessed to have been granted so much of it.

**_A.K Anonymous:_** Without further wait, here is your wedding. (grin) Thank you for your reviews.

_**Calliann:**_ Those two chapters were very emotionally cleansing. these next two, and the third... well, I saved the last one with this really "full" feeling, knowing that I think I ended where it needed to end. I have been on such a journey with this group, and Cerys and Lancelot have gone on such a journey of their own! Your reviews helped me so much along the way, your support, and your enthusiasm drove my pen to new places, making this story so much bigger than I imagined when I first posted. Thank you.

_**annalon:**_ This is the chapter(s) that you are waiting for. I hope that you enjoy. Thank you for your words over the course of this story, knowing I touched you, and helped you with mine has made this journey so much more fulfilling. I thank you, and hope that I can continue to inspire and make you smile in the future with my other stories.

**_Hessa_:** Now, this wedding ceremony coming up is completely made up. I had no idea what to do, didn;t want to make it a Roman ceremony where she wears as veil and hideous yellow shoes, nor did I want to make it pagan with blue people and sacrifice... so I made a ceremony up that I thought would be poignant and meaningful, but still hold some sort of Druidic symbolism. I hope that is still rings true, despite the lack of historical accuracy. it was very emotional to write. I hope that my wedding someday feels this way.

Thank you for your reviews over the course of this story, and your compliments on all the research I did paying off!

_**plzkthz101:**_ You made me really really cry happy tears when I read your review. To know that you feel I am a worthy writer to stand beside Ms. Rowling or even the deity-like Tolkien is beyond my comprehension. Someday I hope to stand beside the Janet Daileys and Nora Roberts' of this world...

So know that your enthusiasm for my work has made me realize that I am capable of doing this, achieving my dream of publishing my stories. In a way I have, by posting them here... but someday, I will see my name on the cover of a book.

Thank you for your words. They move my pen.

_**Melosine:**_ So glad that you got visual richness and memoriesfrom these chapters! I hope I can do that with these next ones. Part of the reason that I have been able to give these characters depth is from your reviews, your understanding of how they work, and through your stories, showing me different sides of characters that I had not yet tapped. Your reviews mean the world to me and I am so very thankful for them. So thank you.

_**ElvenStar5:**_To encourage someone is to give them a sense that what they do is valid. I am so glad that you have been able to find encouragement from both my stories and my advice! I am glad you enjoyed my chatpers. No, I have no clue if decorating teh marriage bed is a tradition, I just thought it would be a fun "fictional" one. The ceremony coming up is completely made up as well. I wanted meaning with emotion, I hope I acheived it.

Thank you for your support over the course of this story, and if you ever need more nudges, you know where I am!

_**Cricket05: **_Ahh so sorry you are not feeling 100! Here are three more chapters, and I hope that your sniffleys have cleared, as they are emotional as well! Thank you for your reviews throughout this story.

_**Elsfire:**_ Everything turns out. These last three chapters will prove it. I am so glad you liked this story, and thank you for reviews.

_**Ailis-70:**_ Ok... you, above all, know how much this means to me to complete this story. Your words helped me get here, period. Without you, I would not be writing these "goodbye" reviews for this story.

Your Tristan inspired my Tristan, and Wynn is as much yours as she is mine. Your insight into my characters spurred extra chapters, new directions and above all else, a sense that what I was doing was valid! That what I was writing made sense. This was a journey for me, made better by your footsteps with me along the way. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

**_Hypersquishy_:** So happy you did! Here is the finale for you. Thank you for your reviews.

_**gwenn0:**_ When you first reviewed, I was amazed that I was reaching people so far away. From South America! Your reviews brought smiles to my face, and this wonderful feeling that I was writing something wonderful. Thank you for your reviews. I am glad I was able to inspire you to post here, and may you keep right on posting!

More thank you's, that I hope make it to their respective people when they read this:

**_Sokorra Lewis_,** who helped me spawn the bunny turned story for Dust Devils, in the reviews for A Golden Circle. Thank you Sokorra for your humour, your inspiration and your reviews! I hope you enjoy these last few chapters.

_**lilstrummrgrl527**_ for her image of Gawain as a hippie-lion, which will be how I see him forever. Your light and wonderful tone in your reviews always made me smile and laugh, knowing that I was able to make you do the same.Thank you so very much for your support through this story.

**_petpoor_,** who joined just to leave me a review, and inspired me with her emails. Thank you for your reviews, and your inspiring story, it really made me believe that anything is possible if you believe. I wish you the best of success with your gelding and his leg.

**_Babaksmiles:_** I know you must still be on vacation, but know that I look forward to your reviews of this completed story when you return! Thank you so much for your support over the course of this story, your words helped me so much!

To **_et cetera et cetera_**, whom I hope is still reading. Your reviews have always been inspirational and I really enjoyed them. Thank you, and I hope that you continue to write.

for **_Lovelyheidi_**, who is a fellow Ontarian! Thank you so much for your reviews, and of course, your wonderful comments.

For **_History2,_** for although you stopped reviewing at chapter 42, you inspired me in ways that I am so grateful for. Your reviews were so insightful, you GOT me... You got what I was trying to say. So thank you, and I hope someday to see another of your wonderful reviews in my inbox.

**_The Wild Woman_**: You haven't reviewed here yet, but if you ever do, know that your work inspired me very much.

And finally,**_Rowan Dash_**, **_Winged Seraph_**, **_Nitestar_**, **_bloodredcherry_**, **_Burnt Alice_**, **_MissBubbles_** (my first reviewer!), **_LilChOkLaTePiG_**, **_Sarita04_**, **_Samli _**(despite the fact that your review was kind of negative and not very nice), **_Lady11occult_**, **_Sea Cucumber_** (Will you be adding more to your story?), **_Mlle Opera Ghost_**, **_AnnePendragon _**(honest I plan on posting to the KA group soon, busy girl...)...

THANK YOU!

Ok folks, here you go. I will leave Dear Reader notes until the end of Chapter 69, which is... The end!

* * *

**Chapter 67: _He's Gone Soft in The Head_**

Arthur saw the train of women first, their lanterns bobbing in the moonlight. He saw their dress­es swaying quietly as they walked, all surrounding...

Cerys.

She looked incredible. Arthur swallowed as he looked from Cerys' face to Guinevere's, and saw the same excitement on it. How Guinevere had looked forward to this night. He smiled. She was waddling along as best she could, her face red from the exertion up the hill, one hand under her belly to support the weight as she leaned into the incline. He had tried to tell her she should stay at the foot and some of the men would carry her up, but she had refused.

Stubborn woman.

Soon they would have a son to bring into this happy family, assembling on the hill. He was feel­ing very full of joy right then and willed himself to hold it in check. He needed to be a King and Cousin now, not a husband and friend.

Arthur was to present Cerys to Rhia, and he strode to meet them as they crested the top of the hill. Guinevere was chanting the rites of the great marriage as softly as possible, the remainder of the women keeping time with her. Cerys seemed excited, but was listening quietly. She was not to chant these words, for she was the one that they were protecting as they made their way.

The six women stopped their chant as Arthur met them. Guinevere held out a hand to him and he grasped it, pulling to his mouth. She smiled and tilted her head to Cerys.

"Cerys, cousin..." Arthur said, then stopped as Cerys stepped forward. The rustling of her skirts made him remember his own wedding suddenly, and how beautiful Guinevere had been. He felt a bit at a loss for what to say and blinked slowly.

His closest friend was to marry this wonderful woman, and truly become family to him. It was almost too much and again he felt himself welling with emotion.

"Cousin, it's just a dress. Stop it." Cerys admonished.

Arthur cleared his throat and smiled, realizing that he had been gawking at her. "It's more than that, but... Of course... You look beautiful. Lancelot will be knocked sideways."

"Why does everyone keep saying that?" She asked suddenly. The group of women giggled.

They moved ahead to arrange themselves for the procession into the circle that was gathered. It was the women's job to present the gifts to Rhia, and for Rhia to then perform the rites to present them to the Gods that would be watching. Bread was a gift of nourishment, Cloth for shelter and warmth, an egg and a bunch of new flowers for fertility and abundance of life, coins for pros­perity, and water in clay for purity of spirit. All symbolic in some way.

Arthur remembered their own wedding ceremony again and he looked to see bundles in each of the woman's hands. They had done both a Christian and Druidic ceremony for he and Guine­vere, and in truth, he had enjoyed Merlin's part much more than the stuffy Bishop they had brought in. A brief flash of memory hit him, and he played the image of Guinevere mocking the bishop with her facial expressions when his back was turned to retrieve the goblet they were to drink from. It had been all he could do to keep his laughter in check. He remembered the men had not. It was a happy memory for such a night. But tonight there was no Bishop, thank heav­ens. Guinevere was dead set against it.

He wondered where Merlin was now. All these years he had just been gone. Guinevere would miss her father, he realized with a start. He must see about finding the man this summer.

Such memories were invading when he needed to concentrate! Where was his head this night? Bors would tell him he was going soft in the head. He straightened his shoulders and pushed the thoughts from his mind.

"Is all ready, my Queen?" He asked his wife as she straightened her skirts over her swelling bel­ly. She nodded and shifted the basket of bread in her hand. She was to offer the gift of nourish­ment.

Arthur's stomach grumbled loudly and Guinevere held the basket away from him, her eyes dancing with mischief, her head shaking a silent "no". They both giggled as he pretending to try and swipe some from it.

He gestured outward with his hand, and the women slowly made their way towards the circle, alight with torches. A few upright stones around the centre of the circle made way to the bower, where Rhia stood waiting. More torches were lighting her and the bower, and there were seven other men standing ready for them. He counted in his head, and swept his eyes over the gather­ing. All was in place, and he nodded quickly.

He could hear flags and pennants snapping in the breeze, and it was a comforting sound to him right then, for some reason.

"Then let's get started." He said. He took Cerys' hand, brought it to his lips and she smiled again.

"Nervous?" He asked.

She shook her head to say no. He raised an eyebrow and looked down at her amused.

"Yes, extremely." She relented finally, biting her lip. "I am trying my best not to cry."

"Cry?"

"Happy tears, cousin... happy."

He tucked her hand into his arm, his own huge fingers curling around it with a soft squeeze, and waited for the women to finish their part. He himself desperately trying to stay stalwart as he kept her in the corner of his eye.

His little cousin was breathtaking. Lancelot was going to be knocked sideways. Literally.

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Tristan watched Wynn enter the circle with her gift of cloth. Her hair was bound back by a cir­clet of silver, the rest of it tumbling down her back in a riot of red waves. He caught his breath. She was wearing a dress so red, it matched the mass perfectly. He felt as if his heart was going to explode, and flip itself up out of his mouth. He was a knight; these sensations did not affect a knight. He grimaced and steeled himself.

Bors would tell him he was going soft in the head.

Her outfit was new. He had never seen that dress before.

He knew he was supposed to be watching the ceremony but he could not tear his eyes away from Wynn. As the other women put down their gifts in front of Rhia, he watched her adjust her skirts, flip some errant locks over her shoulder, and lick her lips. He could hear her reciting un­der her breath the words she was to say, the rustle of her dress as it moved around her tiny ges­tures.

He itched to just reach out and grab some of her hair. So many times lately he had just lay and watched her sleep in the mornings, playing with that hair, running it through his fingers. It was almost a routine now.

He shifted his weight to his other leg and caught Percevals's eye. Perceval nodded and flicked his glance to Wynn, wiggling his eyebrows. Tristan bared his teeth and growled under his breath.

He hoped Perceval knew that meant leave off his woman. He still felt sometimes that she was humouring him, and someday she would tire of him and the lifestyle he led. He was happy, and felt her happiness as well, but sometimes, he doubted. He shook his head slightly to clear it. He needed to have something to eat, he hadn't managed to find any lunch and it was well into the evening now. His stomach growled. He pulled at his gloves with his fingers.

And he could not wait to get out of this damned armour.

She looked very good in that dress, and he let his eyes slide over her form, drinking it in to re­member. He would make sure that she was marked as his later this night or men would be paw­ing at her. He crossed his hands out in front of him and raised his chin. That was his woman out there. He was proud, suddenly, to be there with his companions, sharing this moment.

Tristan was quite sure that Cerys would be just as beautiful, and he looked forward to seeing her come through the crowd, and to do his part, her acceptance of his ceremonial pledge as was part of the rites needed on this night. His sister in his heart was to be married. It made her happy to be doing so, and that was good. She deserved this, after the years of hard work she had put into this place. Wynn was slowly indebting herself here as well, and Cerys had told him earlier in the week that Dafydd was quite keen on training her to take over from him.

He liked that idea.

It was the start of a new year, with Spring in full bloom, and he, for the first time, looked forward to just being there. For once he didn't have the desire to jump on his horse and ride out. But, in truth, he realized that the reason he was riding out for the past four years was now walking into the lit circle with cloth draped over her arms.

Tristan tried valiantly to keep his mind on the reason they were there.

Truly, lately every second thought was of Wynn. He was worried he was getting himself too deep, and it would distract him from his job. But, part of him was blissfully disobeying his in­stinct and loving every thought and picture of her in his head. Even when out on the runs. It was as if she was not just part of his life now, she was his life.

That thought had brought him to a stop a few days before this, and he had been mulling it over ever since.

As Wynn laid the cloth at Rhia's feet, repeating the words that Guinevere had coached her to say, she let her gaze slide to Tristan, and their eyes met. When she passed the knights on her way to the other side of the circle, she let her hand come out, and she softly trailed it over his. It was like fire touching him and he felt himself wanting to reach out and grab her to him. He restrained himself with harsh words in his head, and biting the inside of his cheek.

"You look wonderful in your armour." She whispered.

He blinked. She had never seen him in his full battle armour before. And it never occurred to him that it might worry her.

He should have thought of that. Why he hadn't was beyond him.

As she settled into place beside Dory, smiling over at him and winking, he tried to keep his mask, he really tried.

He realized too late that he was smiling back.

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Lancelot watched the women come into the circle with their gifts. He stood off to one side, the men flanking him on his right side. He looked about at the crowd as they watched the women bring in the gifts, walking slowly towards Rhia, then speaking their parts, laying the gift at her feet.

He could not see through the crowd, and all he could get was the top of Arthur's head. He craned his neck, but he could still not see her.

"She's there, don't worry." Gawain mumbled out the corner of his mouth.

Lancelot gave a meek grin and the men chuckled under their breath. He was dieing to get this over with and get to the fun part of celebrating. But in a way, he was anticipating the moment he would get to join hands with Cerys and declare her his wife.

Forever.

A year ago that would have made him laugh, the idea that he would settle down. Probably would have made the others laugh as well! But, since he had realized his feelings for that woman, his life had been one heaving mass of emotions he never knew possible. The uncertainty, the painful ache in his heart when he debated whether she would ever love him or not, the overwhelming rush of happiness when they were together that first time... the anger when he knew she had been hurt with the harvest. The contentness he felt each morning when he woke up beside her, wondering if it would ever abate, or if he would always have such swells of emotion. It was making him think strange thoughts, and he mulled over it as the ceremony droned on a few more moments.

The mint from behind his cuirass wafted up to him softly, reminding him that she really was his life. She was there in every way that mattered, and he was happy with that.

He was going soft in the head, as Bors would say. Next thing he knew, he would be picking flowers and singing songs about her.

It was much for any man to take in. He wondered if any of the other men felt for their own wom­en. He knew that Galahad was so engrossed in Dory that he was forever thinking of things to get her, bringing her food, taking her on picnics... Picnics! And Bors, despite his gruffness, would treat Lorina with such gentleness sometimes. When he thought the men weren't looking of course. Arthur, well, he knew that man was a romantic fool when it came to his wife. He let her get away with everything.

He wondered if Tristan was as wooden in private as he was with them. Lately he had been more relaxed... so perhaps not. He looked over to Tristan and saw the man smiling, his posture as straight as possible in his armour. Lancelot followed Tristan's gaze and realized that the man was completely bewitched by Wynn, who was demurely smiling back. That made him smile himself. She was good for him.

He cleared his throat and sighed, setting his jaw and returning his gaze to the break in the crowd where the women had come through. He really needed to get his head out of his arse and con­centrate. All this flowery thought about love. Wasn't he supposed to be the brave strong warri­or? The noble man who would be her saviour and caretaker?

She had him completely wrapped around her finger. He knew then that he would do anything for her. Even pick bloody flowers, if it was what she wanted.

He craned his neck again to see over the crowd, and suddenly they parted wider, going quiet. Slowly, into the firelight of the clearing, Arthur appeared, his burnished armour reflecting the light for a moment until he was fully in the circle. Then, with a graceful movement, he swept his hand back and grasped a tiny white hand behind him, pulling it forward through the gap in the crowd.

It was all Lancelot could do not to stride forward to her at that moment, and take her into his arms.

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Galahad leaned over to Gawain in line. "I think she's knocked him sideways." He whispered.

Gawain looked up at Lancelot, and held back a guffaw. The imposing knight, fully armoured with his swords on his back and his dagger at his belt...

was was staring , jaw agape, like a blithering fool.

"He's gone soft in the head." They heard Bors rumble quietly, and all the men in the line, right then, save Lancelot, chuckled under their breath as one.


	68. Bound to be Together

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the character names, save my own original creations. I do not wish to be compensated for this work, nor do I wish to infringe on any copyrights held by any stakeholders of the movie King Arthur. This work is an original creation, based on the legend of King Arthur and his Knights.

* * *

**Chapter 68: _Bound to be Together_**

Lancelot swept his gaze over her. She was...

She was beautiful. That was all he could think.

Beautiful.

Her hair was up, which he was surprised at, but he loved the way bits were falling out, trailing in waves down to her breasts, her silver and sapphire torc glinting between the strands. Her face, it was flushed, excited, and he had never seen her eyes sparkle like that before.

She was his, and he felt very blessed right then.

The torchlight was glancing off a dress he had never seen before as she moved forward on Arthur's arm. It was a deep blue, with a embroidered swell of white pinpoints coming up from the hem at the bottom to rest at her hip, then swirling up her waist, over her left arm, coming to rest in a fine point over her shoulder blade. He noticed that her waist and hips were outlined to perfection. The dress was made for her. There was no other way it would fit her so.

He wondered how he never saw it in their rooms.

The skirts made swishing noises as Arthur led her around the circle of people, as was part of the ceremony. She was smiling; touching hands with people, letting them say the customary bless­ing of fertility for the bride as she passed. She grasped Hywel's hand and he raised hers and kissed it, the laughter rising around him. He went beet red at her giggle of delight. Ganis had pulled his forelock and mumbled something, and it had made Arthur smile. Cerys had tilted her head, stopped moving, and touched his cheek with her hand. He had then gone beet red as well.

He watched as Cerys searched out Dafydd, her neck bobbing as she looked for him, and when she found him, she held the old man's hand as long as she could without delaying the ceremony. Lancelot was sure she was crying now, and Dafydd was wiping at his eyes when she moved on.

She could touch so many people, and had. Her kindness had given her many friends that would want to wish her well this night. So many of the kitchen staff were wearing flowers in their hair, the children running between legs of the crowd to keep up with her while she walked. Everyone who worked for her was here. He was amazed at the throng. The entire fort was gathered on this hill.

He was anxious for her to be done her circuit and be by his side.

He swallowed as he looked to her wrists, now visible as she neared the halfway mark in her tour of the circle. He held his breath as the material moved with the breeze. The sleeves on the dress were long, with trailing cuffs that came down over her fingers on the top, more white embroi­dery on the edges, like snow almost, dusting the edges to taper off to a point at her elbows. He sighed when he saw flashes of copper and he felt an immediate swell of relief.

She had gotten his gift.

He had worked so hard on those wristlets for her, etching tiny designs of flowers and trees into the surface, beating the edges until they were round and scalloped perfectly. He had spent an entire afternoon polishing them in a bucket of water and some of the finest sand that Brinn could find for him. He was very proud of them. They had shone like the sun.

And she was wearing them. The intention wasn't for her to wear them tonight, but it made his heart swell knowing she wanted to, and had.

He cleared his throat and rocked on his heels, then settled into his place beside the bower, Brinn on the other side. Rhia winked at him from where she was sitting once more, and he winked back. Soon enough he could touch her, make sure she was truly real.

And then maker her his for the rest of his life.

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

As Cerys neared the bower, coming up alongside the knights, she stopped. As these men were the King's companions, they must show loyalty to the blood relatives of the King. Each knight in turn was to allow her to touch their sword hilt, as a sign they trusted her and would protect her, in the name of the King.

She was beginning to feel more comfortable, and had only shed tears once so far, when she had found Dafydd in the crowd. She looked up to Arthur, and he nodded to the line of fully armoured men. Cerys listened to the scraping motions of the swords being pulled from their scabbards, the fluidity when they raised them out, hilt up, in front of them. Each blade flashed in the fire­light, as if to give off sparks as she walked forward to the first in line.

But her glance caught Lancelot, through the swords.

He was standing, facing the line of knights, by Rhia, under the bower. He looked proud, fierce, in his armour, and she almost walked straight past the men to go to his side. It was as if the rest of the world went away. She met his eyes, and she could feel the tears starting as his eyes held her.

Hurry up and get here, they were saying.

She blinked and did her part, touched each sword, smiled at each friend. She did not have time to stop long, and even Jols held a serious look as she touched his sword. Arthur touched them with her, as a sign he accepted their pledge. Bors had worn his hand blades and proffered them instead of a sword, so Cerys touched both of them.

It was a lot of pomp for a cousin to the king, but Arthur wanted to show unity, and things such as this were the best way. To have the row of knights in their armour at the head of the circle, where the ceremony was to take place, it was imposing to say the least. Cerys had wished for something less ostentatious, but Arthur and she debated it. He said that if Rhia was to marry them, he desired this part. She had relented, knowing that at least the men standing at the front of this gathering were her dearest friends.

It was nowhere near the pomp of his own wedding anyways, so there was some relief there.

She had stopped only momentarily when she reached Tristan. When she touched the pommel of his sword, he reached his other hand out and covered hers, only for a moment, then pulled away. She smiled up into his face. Warmth such as this from his was uncharacteristic. Wynn had such a wonderful effect on him.

She felt something flutter against her hand and she looked down to the sword, where her hand still was. Laid across the back was a ribbon of deep blue, just like her dress, with white Latin lettering. Perfectly matching her dress, in fact. She was puzzled for a moment at the timing of this simple gift from him, but one with so much meaning between them.

Cerys stared at it a moment, then looked back to Tristan. She pulled her other hand out of Arthur's arm, and softly picked it up. She ran the length through her fingers, reading the letters.

She realized what he intended it for.

She tilted her head and he nodded, moving the hilt of his sword towards her. She knew then what he wanted from her. And it amazed her. If she had been asked to speak, she could not have. The tears flowed unbidden then; she couldn't stop them if she had tried.

He had shown her, years ago, the tied bit of cloth that was already there, just at the bottom of the hilt. It was greyed, tattered, long past its beautiful red hue with the yellow lettering... but it was still there. From when he was taken from his people. He had been protector of his tribe. The symbol was a small one. His tattoos, the other, more permanent one.

He wanted her to do the same now.

She tied the ribbon to the hilt, and the ends fluttered in the breeze. He pulled the sword up above their heads, to show the hilt to the crowd, slowly pivoting in place. A few people in the crowd clapped, Cerys watch them shift in place, their faces happy, but quiet at the serious nature of this important ritual.

He brought the sword back down and buried the point into the ground in front of him, stepping back slightly. The sword wobbled back and forth, the ends of the ribbon floating straight out from it in the breeze.

Tristan went onto one knee and bowed his head to her.

Cerys knew that he was now her champion. Her protector. And in a sense, the protector of their marriage.

It was something that the Sarmatian people did, an old custom, and he had shared it with her. She knew that no one would have been able to force him to do this. She was almost over­whelmed with emotion, and she looked back to Arthur, a hand over her mouth, her eyes wet with emotion.

Arthur touched to top of his head, murmuring some words that she could not hear. He rose, and they embraced forearms. They shook, warrior to warrior.

Lancelot had watched the entire thing and as Cerys turned to him, she saw he and Tristan share a look that she could not decipher. Either that or the moonlight and torch flames were playing tricks on her.

She thought she saw Lancelot's eyes tearing as he nodded at Tristan, Tristan nodding once back before settling his gaze out front again.

Arthur and she made their way to the bower, and Rhia stood, opening her hands to Cerys. Arthur transferred her hand to Rhia. Rhia faced the crowd, who had become silent, watching.

"Artorius Castus, ap Uther Castus, ap Augustus Castus Aurelius, King of the Britains, to whom do you offer this woman to?" She asked in her old frayed voice. It echoed nonetheless out around the crowd. Someone coughed. A baby wailed softly.

"I offer this woman, my true cousin of my mother's sister's blood, to the knight Lancelot, of Sarmatia." He stated, turning to face her.

Rhia turned to face Lancelot then, and held out her other hand. Lancelot stepped forward, and she grasped his outstretched one. He looked over at Cerys, and she wiped at her eyes. He looked to Rhia. She winked.

"Does anyone dare challenge this as offered by the King?" She intoned. With that, there was again silence, with the crowd softly jostling, more soft coughing. Cerys could feel the men grasp at their swords, and stand more at attention. She shifted to look at Brinn, who had his hand on the hilt of his own sword, glaring at the crowd. She smiled and felt herself relax, just a bit. It was the custom, she supposed, but it still felt wonderful to have such strength behind their de­cision to marry.

When no response but silence came from the crowd, Rhia took breath to continue.

"Knight Lancelot, of Sarmatia, do you accept the offer of this woman by her true cousin of her mother's sister's blood from Artorius Castus ap Uther Castus ap Augustus Aurelius Castus, King of the Britains?"

Lancelot swallowed. This was the big moment. This was it. He looked from Rhia to Cerys, and he saw the moonlight bathing her skin, heard the torches roaring in the background, and felt the breeze ruffling his hair. He watched as the strands tickling her neck blew about softly, and he saw the tops of her blue hairpins sticking out from the mass of hair at the back of her head. Now he could fully see her copper wristlets, glinting. Her eyes, sparkling with emotion as she waited for his response.

Time stood still for that moment as he watched the woman he loved. His eyes never left her as he drew a breath and answered Rhia.

"I accept."

Rhia joined their right hands then, and put hers over them, closing her eyes. Cerys faced Lance­lot, and with their eyes locked to one another, let the rest of the people gathered on the hill fade away. Their part was over for the moment, they had but to stand and let Rhia perform the rites. Cerys had seen many marriages such as this before, and knew it would take some time. She squeezed his hand. She wanted so much to talk to him. Tell him she loved his gift, that she was happy, that this was wonderful... But, all that she could do was convey it with her eyes. He blinked slowly and she could see him saying the same things.

He held her eyes, watching them move over his, reading him. He had done it. He was truly mar­ried. He wondered what it would feel like, if holding her hands here would have felt any differ­ent than before, if by some miracle he would suddenly understand the difference between marriage and lovers. There was no difference really.

Except now they were bound to one another in spirit as well as in love. He realized that he had wanted this more than he had wanted anything else in his life. Even more than going home.

His love was properly proclaimed now, and it was not in the least bit scary.

Rhia had finished her chant, and was now binding grass around their clasped right hands, asking of the Gods to bear witness and bless the marriage that had taken place. Each turn of the long dried stalks was a blessing from one of the Gods. Cerys turned finally from Lancelot and watched Rhia as she finished the last turn, knotting the grass, finishing her rites.

"...And for all Gods present here to witness this marriage, grant them fertility and many strong sons."

Rhia turned then, and opened her hand to Lancelot. He looked at her, blinking.

"The iron, Knight."

He raised his eyebrows and remembered, digging the small iron ring out from underneath his belt. He dropped it in her hand. She flipped it over and held it between her old, gnarled fingers. She raised it up, her sleeve dropping away to reveal tattoos swirling up her arm. She looked up to it and chanted again, her eyes closing momentarily, her other hand on their now bound hands.

Cerys watched as she brought it back down.

"Cerys Pillanus ap Herodotus Pillanus, do you accept the token of Knight Lancelot, of Sarmatia, to mark you as his wife?"

Cerys watched her hold the ring out towards her, and she looked back to Lancelot. This was it. This was the moment when she would become forever bound to him.

She had never wanted anything more.

"I accept." She said, her voice never wavering. She had stopped crying long ago, which had sur­prised her. She had expected to be a mess of emotion now. But as Lancelot held her eyes, and she held out her left hand. She felt stronger than she ever had before. She could feel a new en­ergy coursing through her veins.

Either that or she was just much too excited.

He watched her put her hand out, and Rhia, chanting again, slid the ring onto her left hand's second finger. It was a perfect fit. He breathed a sigh of relief, thankful it was not too small. That ring had been his first warrior ring after their first fierce battle. He had taken it from the mail coat of a dead enemy, and asked Sabin to melt it down to a ring to fit his finger. He had worn it for years on his smallest finger, until it was too small even then to wear.

It was the perfect ring to give her.

Rhia smiled as she held Cerys' left hand in hers. She beckoned Lancelot for his, and she joined their left hands to come together over their still bound right hands.

"Almost done." She whispered to them. Lancelot grinned, Cerys tried not to giggle audibly.

"As witnessed here, in front of the Gods, and your King, Do you so proclaim that you are now bound together for your remaining time on this earth?" She said, her voice resonating outwards again. Cerys felt the crowd shift. They knew it was almost over, and they were excited to begin throwing the flowers and cheer. Then onto the celebration.

Cerys again looked at Lancelot, and he was smiling now, his teeth showing, his eyes wrinkled at the corners. Happy. So very happy. She broadened her grin at it, and they stood, silent, just absorbed with one another, hands clasped tightly.

"You have to say you proclaim it now." Rhia said, leaning in towards them, her own face beam­ing.

Both of them blinked and turned their heads in unison towards her.

"Yes." They intoned together.

And with that the cheering started, the flowers were thrown in the air and they broke the grass bonding, Rhia gathering it up. Cerys knew it was to be burnt in their hearth the first night they were together. Rhia folded it up and stuffed it into a pocket in her robe, and sat back down in the bower they stood underneath. The seat had been made for her, normally there was not one. Relieved, she stretched her feet out in front of her and rubbed her knees, her eyes sparkling.

She watched the couple as they came together, oblivious to the surging crowd that was drawing close to them, to wish them well.

The cheering faded to nothing in Lancelot's ears as he put his hands up to her face, looked down at her. She felt his thumb across her cheek, and the world around her faded away once more. They stood, his head bent down towards her, her face tilted up.

"I think I'm supposed to kiss you now." He murmured.

She nodded.

And with that, he bent down and their lips met. Her hands went to his, and they kissed, both of them thrumming, their bodies finally meeting after being so close but not able to fully touch. More cheering and several whistles went out from the crowd. Children were laughing.

As he parted from her, she opened her eyes and realized that again, tears were working their way down her face. He had not let go of her face yet, and his thumbs traced the tears. She blinked and sniffled with a smile.

"This is the happiest moment of my life." She whispered to him. He nodded, his Adam's Apple bobbing as he swallowed his own emotion. He pulled her into an embrace, kissing the top of her head, as was his habit. She put her hands onto the front of his armour awkwardly, her fingers finding the small bit of metal that covered the hole made in his cuirass when he was felled by the crossbow bolt. Her cheek pressed against the cool metal. She caressed the small patch, and his hand came up and held hers quiet. She pressed her palm to it, sighing.

There were voices in their ears now, people shouting, laughing. She felt the reverberations through her cheek of men slapping the back of Lancelot's armour and she straightened away from him reluctantly. He loosened his arms in the same manner, and turned to put an arm around her shoulders, drawing her tightly to his side.

"Now comes the fun!" He exclaimed, his eyebrows wiggling at her. She laughed and slapped his chest, hearing the ting of her new iron ring hitting his metalled chest as she did so. It made her smile.

She was his wife now.

They turned to face the crowd of people and their family...Together.


	69. Epilogue: Home

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the character names, save my own original creations. I do not wish to be compensated for this work, nor do I wish to infringe on any copyrights held by any stakeholders of the movie King Arthur. This work is an original creation, based on the legend of King Arthur and his Knights.

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**Chapter 69-** **Epilogue:** **_Home_**

"Mama! Mama!"

Cerys opened her eyes as she heard the excited yells. She levered her position up from the win­dowsill in the clothroom.

"Mama! Mama!"

She would recognize that voice anywhere. She had been waiting for it, and knew that the men were now home. She stood and dusted off her skirts. Really, she should not be sleeping in the middle of the day like this. She patted her swollen belly.

"Your father is home, young one." She whispered and rubbed it gently.

A young boy, being towed forward by a younger girl, trundled into the room, glowing, both with excited eyes, one set green, one set blue, sparkling.

"Mama!" the young girl shrieked, and launched herself at Cerys.

Cerys swung the young girl up and around in a circle, and sat her on her hip. She ruffled the young boy's hair with her free hand and they made their way out the door and through the al­leyway, the young boy holding her hand now, pulling.

"Mordred, is your father home?"

The young boy nodded. A smile broke out onto his face. "They are all home!" He exclaimed excitedly.

"Then go, he will want to see you."

Mordred broke away from her hand and ran off down the alleyway as fast as he could. The young girl kept her head on her mother's shoulder, one hand tangled in the hair at the back of Cerys' head. The other reached down and patted Cerys' rotund stomach.

"Broffer?" She asked quietly. "Broffer soon?"

Cerys laughed, and danced her about as best she could.

"Yes, or a sister!"

The little girl squealed in delight and Cerys put her down, holding her hand as they raced down the alleyway towards the stables.

When they reached the yard, the cacophony of horses and wagons was rising the dust, making it hard to see. She shielded her eyes from the sun, holding onto her daughter's hand as tightly as she could. She saw Nimli with the basket of towels, handing them out. Perceval scooping her up as she reached him, her laughter bouncing off the walls as he kissed her neck, growling play­fully.

Galahad was hoisting a small boy up onto his back, and bouncing him. The young boy was mak­ing a wonderfully ridiculous noise as he was thrown about, his hands grabbing onto the strap­ping of his father's armour, his little face beaming. Dory had a young baby in swaddling cradled to her chest in a sling, and she was smiling, her hand tapping softly on its back as it nursed.

Cerys spotted Arthur down on one knee, talking with his son, Guinevere with her hands on his shoulders, undoing his scabbard from the arming points. Bors had children hanging off his arms and legs like moss on a tree, while Lorina laughed and shooed them forward towards the exit from the yard. The entire mass was laughing, giggling, and talking all at once.

She was still scanning the crowd. Her eyes passed over Tristan and Wynn passionately kissing, her own rotund belly pushing into his leather armour. He jumped back suddenly, and put a hand out to her in amazement. Cerys giggled as she watched him bend and put an ear to the top of her belly, listening, then smiling as the baby kicked his ear. Wynn looked over, saw Cerys and winked at her. They shared a look of understanding.

They were due a week apart, and it was to be Wynn and Tristan's first child.

As she was scanning the crowd, a set of hands came around her head and covered her eyes. The familiar scent of horses, leather and mint came to her and she smiled widely. Her husband was home.

"DADDY!"

Cerys' hands came up to his, and she heard his deep laughter as his body came into contact with hers, behind her. As quickly as his hands appeared before her eyes, they disappeared, and scooped up the small child now burbling and pulling on his cloak.

"Daddydaddydaddydaddy..."

Cerys turned and watched her daughter and her husband as they nuzzled noses and Lancelot pressed his forehead to hers, his eyes closing for a moment, her little fists bunching into his curly hair. Cerys folded herself under his free arm and looked up at him, he down at her.

"Love." he said and kissed her. She sighed happily. The little girl buried herself into the crook of his neck and played with the laces holding his scabbards onto his back.

"I am so very happy to see you." Cerys murmured into his lips as he again kissed her.

He bought his head back up and turned to his daughter. "And little Elaine, my sweet, were you a good girl while daddy was gone?"

Elaine stopped and her little face frowned for a moment. She blinked and looked at her mother hesitantly.

"Yes." She said in a tiny voice. Cerys poked the tip of her nose softly.

Lancelot raised his eyebrow at her and she giggled, batting her long eyelashes. "Was a vewy good girl."

"She's got you figured out." Cerys said, humour in her voice, and Lancelot sighed.

"Yes, I am afraid she does."

They walked a bit into the courtyard, Cerys waving hello's to the men, grasping hands and kiss­ing cheeks. They had been gone such a long time, three weeks almost. It was good to have them home again, her family.

He much enlarged family, as she took in the happy laughter of children accompanying so many of the men's own, as they greeted their loved ones.

She gave Hector a pat on the cheek when he held a hand to her stomach fondly, and asked where Brinn was. He pointed towards the side of the yard, and as her eyes travelled over, she gasped happily.

"When did that happen?" She asked Lancelot, who chuckled.

"He's been seeing her since Fall last." He replied, grabbing a towel out of Nimli's basket as she passed.

Brinn was holding onto a beautiful brown haired girl by the waist, looking into her eyes, and the young girl had her hands in his long black hair, twisting it about her fingers. They were talking quietly, his hands slowly caressing her.

"That's Hywel's youngest." She said quietly. Wonders never ceased. Brinn had not mentioned a thing to her. She supposed that was standard. Young men didn't want their mothers prying, sometimes.

Lancelot set Elaine down by Cerys and strode over, patting Brinn's shoulder. He broke away from the girl and blushed, and Lancelot nodded to her. The young man straightened, and then nodded once. He reached for the girl's hand, said a word to her, and they parted. Brinn walked with purpose towards Cerys and the stable. Lancelot winked at the young girl before she sat on the wall surrounding the stable yard and bit her lip, watching him walk away.

"Broffer!" Elaine shouted, and ran out with her arms up, towards Brinn.

Brinn lifted Elaine up and swung her about, then lowering her to kiss her nose. She squealed. He laughed, and then settled her across his shoulders, carrying her back to her mother, and now Lancelot. He handed the girl over to his father and smiled.

"Glad to be home, son?" Cerys asked, winking. He blushed and ground his toe in the dirt.

"Yes. Must see to some chores for Gawain, but I will come visit later, alright?"

Cerys touched his cheek, and nodded. He gave a curt nod to his father and strode away then, his armour jingling, his sword strapped high to his back.

"When did he grow up?" She asked fondly as they made their way towards the exit themselves. Elaine was locked onto Lancelot's shoulder, and her eyes were drooping. She put a thumb into her mouth and settled herself in his arm.

Cerys glanced around the emptying courtyard one more time, and waved to Gawain, who was unloading his packs from Demetia, as Gilly led her away. He waved back, and trotted over to them, packs in hand.

He reached their side, and slung one pack over his shoulder.

"How went the first ride?" Cerys asked as they began walking in step. Gawain puffed his chest out and shared a happy glance to Lancelot, who was humming very softly and slowly rocking the now sleeping child in his arm.

"It went very well. Your Brinn did quite well. I would like to say we had no encounters, but he is a demon with his bow, Cerys."

It's all thanks to you." Cerys said quietly, and put a hand on his arm. He smiled.

Cerys was so very happy for him. He had been given the job of training all new recruits to the ranks, and had spent the past five years training the young men who streamed in from across Britain to ride, wield sword and shoot a bow. He was now considered the Master at Arms, and early mornings, the fort would wake to his loud and often time's sharp orders as the boys sparred in the armoury yard.

They streamed into this place, that Arthur had renamed Camelot, seeking out the legendary King, to be one of his "Knights of the Round Table". Many were turned away, the numbers were growing by so much. Gawain trained them all, and proved to be adept at teaching. He loved it.

It had given him a new purpose to his life. He still visited Gareth every day, but now, it was not to mope. Now, when Cerys was out visiting her own parents, she would eavesdrop, and hear him tell Gareth about his day, how much the boys were improving.

As she walked towards the apartments with her daughter and her husband, she reflected. Life was so different now, so vastly different. She had a daughter, and another child on the way. Most of her friends had children, were now expecting, married.

And, so it appeared, Brinn was in love.

She looked down at her hand, the iron ring around her finger, and smiled. She stopped and Lancelot stopped with her. Elaine raised her sleepy head.

"I love you." She said simply, and grasped his free hand.

"And I you." He said back, pulling her hand to his lips, kissing it.

A small sound turned their heads towards their daughter.

"How you know you love mama?" She asked sleepily, her eyes blinking. Lancelot tilted his head and looked up. He pointed at the moon just appearing in the sky and her eyes followed his finger. She asked this whenever she heard them say those words. It never failed.

"You see that? Your momma has such a pretty face," He hefted her slightly and continued, "And once, when I saw your momma at night, when there was a full moon, I fell in love with her, because the moonlight made her very pretty."

"At night." the sleepy girl said... "Like daddy? Like a knight?"

Lancelot laughed, and Cerys smiled. Each time, Lancelot would call her his Cerys at 'Knight' when Elaine confused the two words, to tease her.

"Well, not quite..."

Elaine was already back asleep; he had no need to finish the familiar story.

"You really are a charmer." Cerys said softly as they continued on. She opened the door to their apartments, and stopped on the threshold as Lancelot was still standing outside, his eyes to the sky, his daughter cradled in his arms. He smiled and then looked to her, chuckling softly.

"What?" She asked as their gazes held one another. She came back out, and he folded under his free arm again.

"Ah, its nothing." He said, and then kissed her softly, "Just wonderful to be home."

She nodded and they walked inside, closing the door behind them.

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**Dear Reader:**

I am crying.

This was an emotional ride for me, all the way from chapter 1 to now. I have finished, for all intensive purposes, my very first book. It may never see a printing press, but it is an achievement and it is mine!

The wedding ceremony is purely made up, I wanted to show emotion with some symbolism, and I hope it worked. I thought it best to end our story there, with an epilogue, and please do let me know if it worked. It's always hard to find a place to end, isn't it?

And thus, our last loose end...Gawain has his calling and is happy. I know many of you wanted love for him, but this made more sense for me.

And to end, Brinn is in love, our knights have families. I hope you liked my explanation of the title of this work, which was one of the first things I wrote. It is both funny and touching, for me.

So, dear readers,now I leave this story with a sad heart, but with a happy sense of accomplishment. Cerys will forever be in my heart, as will many of the people in this story.

May your pens never stop moving on the page, and may you go on to inspire others with your reviews, as you have inspired me.

Thank you for reading my story, with all my heart.

_Cardeia_


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